Then the horn was withdrawn by the unicorn who had stabbed it through her back. Nina blinked, feeling where it had poked through—not even a trace of blood. Just that strange warmth that infused her.

She turned, and saw all three of the unicorns bowing to her. She was too warm, wet, and confused to do more than pat the nearest one on the head before staggering back toward her shelter.

When she got there, she felt warmth of a different kind—as waiting there in the middle of her shelter were a big fluffy towel and a thermos that proved to contain piping hot chicken noodle soup. Her blood boiled with rage as she realized, “Ooooh, that Alan! No wonder this seems so familiar. It’s his own personal game of The Sims meets frickin’ Survivor!“

She was tempted to throw his damnable towel and thermos into the ocean—but not enough to overcome feeling wet and cold now that the earlier warmth was fading. She sighed resignedly.

It was a very warm and fluffy towel, and very good soup.