Snow settled thickly on the branches as they walked, a white veil softening every sound. Lira breathed in the cold air, watching her breath drift like smoke. Outside the grove, winter ruled—yet she felt strangely calm.
She looked back once toward the grove's boundary. Inside it, the colors remained vibrant, untouched by frost, its own gentle climate protecting every leaf and blossom.
Good, she thought. None of the plants will suffer. Nothing I worked for will wither.
The contrast was soothing in its own way: winter behind her, perpetual spring within.
As they moved deeper into the forest, even the fog that normally wrapped itself around the trees had thinned. Snow seemed to chase it away. Silvery light reflected off the pale ground, painting everything with soft glow. The trees stood tall and quiet, their trunks dark against the blanket of white. Every few steps, a branch released a clump of snow that fell in muted, gentle thumps.
