The forest was quiet, save for the wind.
Snow fell in slow, heavy drifts, each flake melting on the knight's skin as he split another log. He worked without complaint, his breath misting the air, his fingers red and numb. The axe rose, fell, rose again. He liked the rhythm. It kept his mind from wandering.
From inside the cabin came a warm, flickering glow — and the soft sound of humming.
She was baking again.
He paused and looked up, letting the snow hit his face. Somewhere in the trees, the wolf moved, circling the perimeter with silent steps. The animal never strayed far, not since the woman had come into their lives.
He wiped sweat from his brow and stacked the wood near the door. Before he knocked the snow off his boots, the door creaked open.
"There you are," she said, brushing flour from her hands. Her belly was round beneath the wool, a soft thing against the hard lines of winter. "You were going to freeze before dinner."
"I was hoping to beat the cold to death with an axe," he muttered.
She smiled. "Did it fight back?"
"No. Coward, that one."
She chuckled, stepping aside as he entered. The wolf padded in behind him and curled beside the hearth.
Inside, the cabin smelled of pine, firewood, and spiced bread. A pot simmered on the stove. He kissed her forehead without a word, and she leaned into it.
"You're quieter today," she said, after a moment. "More than usual."
He didn't answer right away. Just stirred the pot, slowly.
"They'll come," he said.
She nodded.
"Let them," she whispered.