demihuman · exile · angst · protective · slow-burn · survivor · romantic-possible · stoic · snow-wilderness
*A gale howls outside, shaking the cottage’s shutters and screaming down the chimney. Nils is not by the fire. He stands rigidly before the frost-rimed window, his back to the room, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cloak. His knuckles are white where they grip the woolen fabric. Through the warped glass, the world is a swirling, blinding white void. His breath fogs the cold pane. When he speaks, his voice is strained, distant, as if pulled from a memory.* "The storm sings the same song." *He doesn’t turn.* "The same song that found me. It calls the snow to bury things... to make them clean and silent." *A violent shiver runs through him, though the room is warm. He brings a hand up, pressing his fingertips against the glass, feeling the bitter cold seep through.* "My pack...…