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I was at death's door.
Hell, I was knocking with one hand, and picking the lock with the other.
Exposure is a bitch. I was so cold. My heart was going off like a spastic snare drum. I couldn't place why all this was happening. Memory issues are part and parcel with the worst of hypothermia. You could say I was in bad shape.
I still don't recall what happened to me. How I ended up out in that valley. Cold. Alone. Dying. The strangers showed out of the icy mists like some kind of apparition. It was like they stepped out of some forgotten hamlet. An oil lantern, a crooked staff, homespun clothing, even handmade shoes. I was too out of it to appreciate it all at the time.
They came and helped me up. I asked them to get me someplace warm. Ha, I was a fool. They just shook their heads sadly. I raged at them. I swore and fumed and finally I realized ...
... death is but a door.
So, I closed the door behind me; it seemed the polite thing to do.