Journey

The storm passed like a dying breath, slow and ragged. When morning came, it brought light but no warmth, just a thin veil of sun that shivered behind thin clouds. The world outside their snow-dug hollow had changed again—less fury, more silence. Snow layered in sweeping drifts, sculpted by wind and time.

After their extensive lovemaking last night, Kai fell asleep in his mother's embrace. Well, it's not like he could get up even if he wanted to since her arms and legs were firmly latched around his body, refusing to give up her human blanket.

After all, she was being warmed up from both inside and out.

Kai was the first to stir, his body naturally knew a new day has dawned despite the complete darkness. Feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest below him eased his worries for her. She seems to be doing fine.

He shifted carefully beneath the pelt cloak crusted over in white, dislodging the layer of ice that formed after snow melted and refroze through the night. His limbs were stiff having lain in the same position the entire night.

As Kai was getting up, Asha, losing her source of warmth, shivered a little then was stirred awake. Her mind was still a bit hazy.

"Son? Is that you?"

"Yes mom, it's me. We survived the night."

"All thanks to you." She caressed his cheek with affection.

Kai couldn't help but feel warm inside and responded by kissing her. They shared a deep kiss with plenty of tongue for a long while but didn't go overboard.

They cleaned themselves up as best they could and put their clothes back on. It was uncomfortable because the clothes have become cold after being in contact with the snow which made Asha shiver.

Kai had to dig a new tunnel back out since the blizzard covered the previously dug hole with new snow.

Once they reached the surface, the bright sunlight blinded them for a while, forcing them to adjust to the brightness.

"You dug like a mole." Asha chuckled.

Kai let out a tired breath that might've been a laugh. "Next time, we find a cave."

"No next time," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I don't want there to be a next time."

"What? You didn't like being fucked like that?"

Asha playfully punched his shoulder. "No, I liked that, it was nice. You know what I mean."

Together, they climbed their way out of the burrow. The snow was powdery now, not the biting, wind-hardened crust of the days before. The sun had melted just enough to soften its grip. Around them, the land still belonged to winter, but it no longer fought to kill them with every gust. The sky had turned a pale silver, and the wind was tired.

They descended slowly over the following days, letting the high slopes give way to lower ridges and frozen valleys. The ice began to thin. Here and there, patches of brown stone showed through like old bones.

Once, they passed the shattered skeleton of a massive bird—long-dead, half-buried in snow, its wingspan wider than a house. Its bones were ashen white, picked clean, a warning or a signpost. Neither said a word as they passed it.

They grew leaner. Stronger, in a way that came with hunger and repetition. Kai took to the rhythm of their days with grim acceptance—wake, move, scavenge, watch the sky, watch his mother. Asha conserved her energy, resting when needed, eating sparingly from their dwindling food. Kai kept her from the heavier climbs and did most of the work.

At night, they would snuggle close together for warmth. Sometimes, it led to slow, intimate sex, but often they were too tired from traveling and surviving all day.

His skin hardened in the cold, his instincts sharpening as if the dragon's blood inside him liked the challenge. When his mother wasn't looking, he would stare at his hands—callused, tinged faintly with a hue he couldn't name.

They saw things in the mountains. Strange things. A circle of standing stones coated in frost that hummed faintly when they stepped too close. A hollow tree that bled golden sap, which steamed in the cold and smelled like old memories. One night, far off in the clouds above a ridge, they glimpsed a creature soaring with wings of pale fire. It vanished before they could breathe its name.

However, their journey was also fraught with dangers.

They crossed broken ice fields where crevasses waited beneath innocent snow. One afternoon, Kai nearly lost a foot to a pitfall hidden by the crust, catching himself with one arm and hauling out with a growl of effort.

Another day, a deep, rhythmic thudding in the distance sent them scrambling into the shadow of boulders—a frost-bison herd passing in search of spring, each creature big as a hut and crusted in frozen algae. The beasts didn't notice them, but the ground shook with their passage.

Wolves howled in the night. Once, they woke to find fresh prints around their camp—too many to count, all circling, never coming closer. Kai didn't sleep the rest of that night, crouched with a stone axe in hand, eyes gleaming.

Asha suffered worst when the cold returned in waves. Though Kai would carry her without complaint, she never let him do so for long. Despite all he did to keep her warm, over time, her fingers were cracked and raw, her lips bruised with cold, but she stood each morning and walked with him.

Their food dwindled—what little they carried was rationed fiercely. When it was gone, they gnawed bark, scavenged lichen, or ate snow just to delay the inevitable hunger when there was nothing left.

They did not speak of turning back. There was nothing to turn back to.

A month passed like a dream seen through frost. Then, the snow began to lose its claim.

It began as a subtle shift. A different color on the horizon. The soil beneath the snow changed from rock to dark earth. The wind no longer stung so sharply. They crested a final rise and paused there, blinking like newborn things.

Below them sprawled a forest—dense, deep, and green. Real green. Trees layered in mist, tall and crooked, with moss clinging to their trunks. A river cut through the woods like a thread of silver, its banks soft with grass.

Although there was still snow on the treetops, it was nowhere near the deep trenches they had to traverse to get here.

Asha knelt. She didn't cry, but she stayed there for a long time, hands pressed to the warm ground.

"We're finally out of the deep mountains." Asha muttered in relief.

"The journey was harsh, and we nearly died multiple times, but we made it."

They camped by a nearby river that night. The air was still chilly but forgiving, and the sound of flowing water filled the silence. Kai had never been so grateful for sound.

Clutching a long, straight branch sharpened into a spear, he waded into the shallows, the water ice cold, but refreshing. His eyes narrowed against the glare. The fish were slick and fast, darting like shadows.

But his body moved faster.

He moved with the stillness of a predator, his hands slow at first, then faster—until the third time, his spear struck true. A fat silver-scaled fish thrashed on the tip, and Kai let out a noise somewhere between surprise and triumph.

Asha laughed. A real laugh, not bitter or broken, but something sunlit and tired and full of wonder.

They lit a small fire and cooked the fish over a spit of sharpened sticks. Its flesh was clean, slightly sweet. They ate slowly, as if afraid to wake from a dream. The fire crackled. The river murmured. The night was no longer a threat, only a presence.

Asha leaned against Kai's shoulder; her shoulders slumped with exhaustion but her face soft. "You've grown," she remarked, after a while.

Kai looked up, fingers sticky with grease. "Taller?"

"Not just taller," she added, smiling faintly. "Different. Stronger. Your eyes… see more than they used to."

Kai looked at his reflection in the river—dark hair grown shaggy, face lean, eyes sharp and distant. "I don't feel different," he answered. "Not really."

She reached out and touched his wrist. "That's because you're still you."

They let silence settle between them, the fire crackling, fish bones gleaming in the firelight. But peace, like all things in the wild, was fragile.

The first sound was a crunch in the brush. Too deliberate to be wind. Then another—closer, heavier. Kai froze, one hand drifting to the haft of his spear.

Asha tensed, her eyes scanning the trees. "What is it?"

Kai didn't answer. He stood, slow and deliberate, turning to face the dark beyond the firelight. The shadows shifted—no, moved.

Then they stepped into view.

A pack. At least eight of them. Wolves, but larger than any Kai had seen before, with fur the color of old smoke and eyes like winter moonlight. They fanned out in a wide semicircle, silent and confident, as if they had been watching for hours.

The largest one stepped forward. Its breath steamed. Its hackles rose. It did not growl.

Asha rose slowly to her feet, hand clenching the edges of her cloak.

Kai lowered his body, spear ready. His other hand slowly felt for his hatchet and luckily he still had it secured to his waist.

The fire behind him cast a flickering shadow, and for a heartbeat, he felt it again—that ancient heat inside his chest, thrumming, watching.

The wolves didn't charge.

Not yet.

But they didn't leave either.