Sergei waited until his guest had finished his stew before asking, "Have you seen Roland?  He should have been with you,
Pyerun, as was his place."

Illya sighed and answered, "Roland is dead.  Did you really expect THRUSH to follow our traditions, except as it suits
them?"

"That is unfortunate," the other man replied.  "It was his place to guard your back.  That was the reason for your marriage.
Now you will have to go forward alone."

"Not alone," came a voice from the shadows behind the stove.  "Certain balances must be maintained; since the dark forces
have moved improperly, it allows an extraordinary move by the forces of light.  One comes who is well versed at guarding
your back, but he requires your aid most urgently."

Illya's heart was filled with both hope and dread, even as a part of his mind whispered, 'It can't possibly be him.'  Speaking to Dolya, he said, "He is out in the storm."

"He is," came the reply, "and poorly dressed for the weather.  A last piece of advice: listen to your heart, and let it speak."

Sergei was already donning heavy clothing, having set out an outfit for Illya and other clothing for whoever was out in the
storm.  "We had better hurry; he won't last long in this weather."

Illya sent a nod and a word of thanks to woman behind the stove before donning his own garb and following his host outside.

"I think I saw something moving over there!" Illya shouted to Sergei, pointing off to his left.

The other man didn't speak, simply turning towards where the finger pointed and trudging in that direction.  Within moments,
they found a body half buried in the snow.  A quick check revealed it was still breathing, and the two men wrapped it in the
heavy clothing they'd brought and carried it back to the cabin.

Once inside, they quickly stripped him to the skin and, after checking for frostbite, grabbed rough towels and dried him off.
"You know him." Sergei said.  It was not a question.

"Da," replied Illya.  "Napoleon Solo, my former partner with UNCLE.  He should not be here; he should have remained in
New York.  Papers?" he asked, beginning to go through his clothing.

"Not there," the gray eyed man answered, "but look over there."  He nodded toward the table near the stove.  On it sat
a bundle of papers, most notably the small notebooklike form of a passport.  "I would bet my last ruble those have your
friends name on them.  Never mind now; we must see to your partner."

They carried him to the featherbed Illya had awoken in earlier and laid him down, pulling the thick quilts over him.  Sergei
gave his guest a significant look.  "He will warm faster if he isn't alone."

Illya understood; he had taken off his heavy outerwear earlier and was even now removing the last of his clothing.  He
slipped naked into the bed, drawing the equally nude form of his partner against him and hoping he would understand why
when he awoke.  The cold flesh was enough to both worry him and keep his body from an all too embarrassing reaction.  He
knew neither condition would last, and wondered what he would say when Napoleon awoke naked in the arms of a nude,
aroused partner.  Even now his body heat warmed the chilled flesh, and the smell and feel of the man in his arms was doing
things he dared not think about.  He set himself to thinking of the conversation he needed to have with Sergei, but the day's
events finally caught up with him and he drifted into slumber.