Moana sank into the sofa by the fire. The heat was painful, like stinging insects, but she was still shaking from the cold. Her limbs felt heavy and clumsy. Her feet and hands looked swollen. She wasn't sure what it meant but she didn't think it was good. She'd never been so cold.

She huddled in Ned's sweatshirt and waited for him to return. A stray thought floated through her awareness. Someone needed to take the fish to the kitchen. It would spoil if not.