The mountains were silent under their winter crown, the snow layered thick over every ridge and valley until the world looked carved from crystal. The air was so still that every falling flake seemed deliberate.
Most travelers who wandered this high up in the pass would have been shivering inside three layers of wool by now, breath fogging in frantic clouds. Nevara, however, walked with her hood down.
The icy air slipped over her cheeks without bite, cool and refreshing like spring water. Strands of her hair — silver streaked with the faintest hints of blue — caught the muted daylight and shimmered against her back. Her boots sank and rose in slow, easy steps; snow whispered underfoot rather than crunching.
She hummed softly as she went, voice light in the stillness. "Another mile and we stop for our feast — dried meat, dried fruit, and the luxury of pretending it's a banquet."
The cold had always been her friend. It didn't claw at her skin or stiffen her joints. It wrapped around her like a familiar cloak, one she'd worn since before she could remember. The stillness of winter, the muted colors, the clean scent of ice in the air — these were her comforts.
That was why the sound struck her like a pebble breaking the surface of still water.
Small. Thin. A broken, high-pitched cry.
Nevara stopped, head tilting slightly as she let the silence press against her. The sound came again, half-swallowed by the snowfall. Not a bird. Not a fox. Younger. Weaker.
Without hesitation, she turned from her path. Snow drifted in gentle sheets from the pine branches as she wove between them, eyes scanning the uneven ground.
Up ahead, two mounds of snow slumped together, not shaped like any rock or fallen branch she knew. She knelt, brushing snow away with bare hands. Her skin didn't flinch from the cold; instead, faint traces of frost magic shimmered under her fingertips, coaxing the ice to loosen and slide away without melting.
The first ear appeared — small, triangular, tipped with frost. Then the curve of a head, fur so black it glinted blue in the pale light. A leopard cub, tiny enough to cradle in one arm, blinked up at her with dazed golden eyes. He tried to growl, but it came out as a weak squeak.
"Hello, there," Nevara murmured. Her voice softened instinctively. She freed his foreleg from the crusted snow, brushing it clean.
A faint twitch beside him caught her attention. The second mound shifted under her hand. She brushed faster and found a pale-furred sibling — smoky-gray with soft rosettes, body limp from the cold. Her eyes, when they opened, were the color of winter skies.
"Oh no," Nevara whispered. "Two of you."
She wrapped the pale cub snugly in her scarf, pressing her to her chest. The black one she tucked under her other arm, holding them both easily despite their small but stubborn weight. Their shivering didn't bother her; to Nevara, the cold radiating from their bodies was nothing unusual.
"Temporary," she told them, though her tone was already losing its firmness. "I can't keep you. I can't even keep a cactus alive."
Neither cub argued, but both pressed deeper against her coat as if they'd already decided they weren't going anywhere.
She angled toward home, weaving through drifts. The cubs shifted occasionally under her arms, little claws pricking through the fabric in tiny, instinctive grips. Nevara kept her pace steady — her cabin wasn't far now.
That was when she heard the barking.
It was deeper than a fox's yip, more deliberate than a wolf's call. Hunting hounds. Voices followed, low and rough, carrying just enough for the words to reach her.
"…fresh tracks here… small paws."
"Worth more if they're alive."
Her jaw tightened.
She ducked behind a stand of firs, the cubs going tense against her. The black lifted his head to stare toward the sound, tail flicking. The gray stayed still, eyes wide.
Nevara crouched, sliding them under a low branch heavy with snow. "Stay here," she whispered. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."
The black gave a small, stubborn huff. The gray tucked herself tighter into the scarf.
Straightening, Nevara stepped onto the trail just as the first of the hunters emerged — three men in fur cloaks, nets and long hooks at the ready. Two lean hounds strained at their leashes, ears pricked forward. The lead man stopped short at the sight of her.
"You alone out here?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
She smiled brightly. "Seems so."
"Then you won't mind if we look around," another said. "We're after beast cubs. Lord's orders."
"I mind," Nevara said pleasantly.
One of them chuckled under his breath. "Step aside, girl."
Her smile thinned, the brightness gone from her eyes. The air between them seemed to grow heavier, edged with the sharp bite of ice. Frost began to creep outward from her boots in delicate spirals, spreading across the snow like ink in water. The hounds whimpered, but when one man took a step toward her, Nevara's patience cracked.
"I said no," she said, her voice low and edged. "And no one touches what I am protecting."
The nearest hunter sneered and lunged, his hook raised. Nevara's hand flicked up, and the frost surged like a living thing, racing up his legs before he could blink. He froze mid-motion, ice locking him in place from the boots up to his chest.
The other two moved in, but she stepped forward, her presence like a cold front crashing through the forest. The ground whitened under their feet, ice blooming across leather and metal alike until both were trapped, breath fogging in panicked bursts. Her eyes were no longer warm — they were shards of winter, glacial and merciless.
"You feel that?" Nevara's voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone that seemed to cut through the air. As she spoke, her lips pulled into a slow, angry smile that didn't reach her eyes — a smile too sharp and too cold to be anything but unsettling. "That's me giving you the chance to run before I decide you don't deserve it."
A gust of unnatural cold swept over them, the frost tightening until the hunters' teeth chattered and fear cracked through their bravado. One swore under his breath, another yanked frantically at his frozen boots. Nevara took a single step closer, that eerie smile still fixed in place, and the ice groaned in warning.
They broke. In a clumsy scramble, they tore free of the frost and fled into the trees, curses turning to panicked breaths. The hounds bolted ahead, tails tucked, eager to be anywhere but near her.
Nevara returned to the pine thicket. The cubs were exactly where she'd left them — the black sitting upright now, tail flicking like he'd been planning to leap into the fray himself. She felt a faint, grudging admiration for his spirit, though she was relieved he'd stayed put.
She scooped them up without a word, her arms tightening just a little more than necessary. The cold around her felt sharper now, tinged with the lingering anger from the confrontation. She told herself she was only imagining the echo of their fear in her own chest.
Inside, the air was warmer, but she didn't notice. Her mind was still replaying the hunters' faces — the moment their bravado had cracked, the sound of boots breaking free of ice. She set the cubs down on the worn rug in front of the fire, keeping her gaze on them as if expecting someone to burst through the door.
The black began prowling immediately, sniffing every corner as though mapping the place for escape routes. The gray curled back into the scarf, watching him with slow blinks, her ears flicking toward every creak of the cabin.
Nevara filled a shallow bowl with hot water from the kettle, the steam curling up like ghostly fingers. She crumbled in dried meat, letting the scent of broth fill the small space. The aroma seemed to pull the cubs' focus back from the tension; the black dove in instantly, while the gray circled the bowl before eating in slow, deliberate bites.
She sat back, watching them in the firelight, her thoughts quieter but not calm. Outside, the snow fell in patient silence, already covering the tracks the hunters had followed. That, at least, was a comfort.
"You've no idea what kind of trouble you're in," she murmured — though the words tasted strange, because a part of her knew she was speaking to herself just as much as to them.
The black lifted his head, broth clinging to his whiskers, and met her gaze with a boldness that made her lips twitch despite herself. The gray licked her nose gently before curling up again, trusting her without question.
"One night," Nevara said softly, more to test the shape of the lie than to believe it. "Tomorrow… we decide the rest."
The fire popped. The wind sighed. And in the quiet warmth of the cabin, Nevara already knew with bone-deep certainty she wouldn't give them up. Not to hunters. Not to anyone.