The morning came pale and still, the kind of calm that settles over the world after a long storm. Outside the cave, snow blanketed everything in a soft white hush — even the air seemed to hold its breath. Within the den, the hearth's low flames glowed gently, painting the stone walls gold.
Evan stirred beneath the furs, blinking sleep from his lashes. The cubs were still tangled beside him, small bodies pressed together for warmth. Then he walked out of the chamber.There across the fire, Kael sat awake already, his long black hair shadowing his eyes as he added another stick to the fire.
And near the cave mouth — coiled upon himself, half-man and half-beast form — sat Silas. His scales gleamed faintly in the weak dawn, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun peeked shyly over the distant ridge.
Evan walked quietly, wrapping a fur over his shoulders.
"Morning," he murmured softly as he approached.
Silas's tail flicked once, slow and deliberate. "You're up early."
Evan smiled. "So are you."
The serpent gave a low hum, never taking his eyes off the pale sky. "Couldn't sleep. The air is different today… heavier. Winter's true heart is coming soon."
Evan settled beside him, "Then maybe it's time we prepare for what comes next."
Silas turned his gaze toward him, curious. "You've thought of something?"
Evan nodded, his expression thoughtful. "When I was captured by the rogues… I noticed something"
Silas's expression hardens immediately—his tail tightens around his arm. "You don't need to remember that."
"I do," Evan said gently, placing a steady hand on his arm. "Because I saw something useful there."
That earned him a raised brow.
"There were plants," Evan continued, his voice calm but certain. "Vegetables growing even in the snow. Cabbage-like leaves, tall stalks like leeks, and a kind of yam that pushed through the frost. They were alive even in that place."
Silas blinked. "Plants? Growing now?In the frost...."
"Yes. I think they can survive the cold. If we collect enough, they could help us through the rest of the winter."
Silas considered it for a moment, his tail curling idly in thought. "Then we'll go at once, before another storm."
Evan shook his head lightly, a playful curve at his lips. "Not just collect them. We'll take most, but leave a few there."
Silas frowned, puzzled. "Leave them? Why?"
"That's called sustainable development."
"…Sustain… what?"
Evan chuckled. "It means taking only what we need, and leaving enough so they can grow again. If we take everything now, there'll be nothing left for next time."
Silas studied him for a long, quiet moment before murmuring, "You think too far ahead, little one."
"That's why you need me," Evan teased softly.
Silas's lips twitched into a faint, rare smile. "Perhaps."
.....
After breakfast, Evan began gathering the materials for Silas's trip. He pulled out cured hide sheets from storage, threading them carefully with sinew to create a large, sturdy sack. His fingers were nimble, though his brow furrowed now and then in concentration.
Kael watched from near the fire, his head tilted slightly. The soft light reflected off his golden eyes, making them seem even more striking.
"What are you making?" he asked finally. "Need help?"
Evan smiled without looking up. "It's almost done. But don't worry, you'll be needed soon enough."
Kael's mouth curved, half teasing. "As you wish… madam."
Evan froze for a heartbeat, his cheeks instantly coloring. He coughed and bent back over the sack, pretending to focus on his stitches. "You—" he began, then stopped himself, shaking his head with a sigh.
Kael's quiet chuckle filled the air like a low purr.
When the bag was finished, Evan inspected it carefully — it was wide and deep, the seams tight and strong. Perfect for carrying food through snow.
....
Once the sack is ready, Evan picked up a sharpened piece of burned firewood and walks to one side of the stone walls.
The he kneels and begins sketching.
"What are you doing?" Silas asked, watching as Evan knelt.
"Drawing," Evan replied simply.
He began to sketch: broad, layered leaves — snow cabbage. Long, slender stalks with feathered tips — frost leek. And finally, thick tuber roots with dotted skin — mountain yam.
He labeled each one neatly with small marks beside the drawings, then stepped back, wiping the soot from his fingers.
"There. Now you'll know exactly what to look for."
Silas crossed his arms, feigning offense. "You think I'd forget?"
Evan smiled over his shoulder. "No. But I know you'll check it anyway before leaving."
Silas exhaled through his nose in faint amusement. "You really do know me too well."
Evan only grinned. "I've had practice."
.....
By midday, Silas was ready to go. The large hide sack hung across his back, and his long tail swayed behind him like a silent sentinel. The cubs clung to him with small hands, eyes wide.
"Papa, where are you going?" the younger one asked.
Silas crouched, brushing his child's hair back gently. "To get food. I'll be back before you wake again."
Evan knelt beside them, smiling softly. "He'll bring back something you'll like — fresh vegetables."
The cub blinked. "Veg… tables?"
Evan laughed. "You'll see."
Silas's golden eyes softened briefly as he looked between them, then met Evan's gaze. "I'll move fast. Don't let him wander off," he said, nodding toward Kael.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "I'm not that restless."
Evan rolled his eyes, amused. "We'll be fine. Just come back before sunset."
Silas nodded, and for a heartbeat, his tail curled lightly around Evan's wrist — a brief touch of instinct and warmth before it slipped away.
Then, with one last look at the charcoal sketches on the wall, Silas stepped into the snow. His tall form disappeared slowly into the white horizon.
....
The day stretched quiet and steady. Inside the den, the fire crackled lazily.
Kael worked near the entrance, digging a side chamber into the wall — a cool storage place for the vegetables Silas would bring. His movements were strong and sure, his shoulders dusted with snow and stone dust.
Evan sat nearby, drying herbs and humming under his breath, while the cubs rolled tiny balls of fur and straw, playing pretend cooking.
When Kael finally stepped back from his work, he wiped his brow and said, "Done." Then after a moment's pause, he asked, "You really think those greens are useful?"
Evan looked up from the herbs and smiled faintly. "Of course. They were in the stew you ate last night."
Kael blinked. "That was those plants?"
Evan nodded. "Yes. You liked it, didn't you?"
Kael grunted softly, as if trying not to admit it. "Hmm. Maybe."
Evan's eyes sparkled. "Then you'll like what's coming next too."
For a while, silence returned — peaceful, companionable.
---
As dusk fell, the sky turned to liquid gold fading into silver. Snowflakes began to drift again, each one glinting like tiny stars.
Evan sat near the entrance, the cubs asleep against his lap. His gaze flicked often toward the forest path, worry and trust warring in his heart.
Then he heard it — a distant crunch, the sound of something large moving through snow. The soft, familiar hiss of scales dragging lightly over ice.
Evan's heart leapt.
The shadow that emerged from the white veil was tall and broad — Silas, his hair dusted with snow, a heavy hide sack slung over his shoulder. The faint scent of fresh earth and herbs followed him, and the sack steamed faintly in the cold.
Evan stood, warmth flooding his chest despite the chill.
Silas's emerald eyes met his across the snow.
"Welcome home," Evan said softly.
Silas's lips curved into a quiet smile — rare, gentle, real — as he stepped inside, the snow melting from his scales with each breath of warmth.
Silas set down the heavy sack with a soft thud, snow still clinging to its seams. The warmth of the den washed over him, carrying the scent of herbs and roasted meat from the hearth.
Evan hurried to him at once, his eyes bright with curiosity. "You found them?"
Silas loosened the tie and pulled the flap open. Inside lay heaps of pale-green leaves, long white stalks, and several earth-colored roots still dusted with frozen soil. Steam rose faintly from them, as if the life inside refused to freeze.
Evan's lips parted in a quiet gasp. "These are exactly the ones I saw… even fresher than I thought." He brushed a bit of frost from one cabbage head, inspecting the crisp edge of the leaves. "Perfect."
The cubs gathered around, wide-eyed, poking at the vegetables as though they were rare treasures.
"Don't touch too much," Evan scolded softly, but the fond smile betrayed his amusement. "We'll clean them tomorrow. They've traveled enough for today."
He turned to Silas. "Put the sack near that new chamber Kael made — it'll stay cool there without freezing solid."
Silas nodded, lifting the bag easily and carrying it toward the small hollow Kael had carved into the stone wall. The deep, smooth space already held a faint chill from the outer air — a perfect storage spot.
When Silas returned, he stretched his shoulders, his tail flicking lazily. "Done."
"Good," Evan said, brushing his hands against his apron. "Now, dinner."
Evan then started preparing the dinner.
He moved to the hearth, stirring the pot where broth simmered gently. The scent of taro and herbs filled the air as he added slices of dried meat and a handful of crushed roots. The cubs began setting out wooden bowls, their tails flicking with excitement.
Kael watched from his seat near the fire, quiet but content. His gaze lingered on the scene — the soft laughter, the warmth, the sense of peace.
Silas crouched beside Evan, wordlessly taking the knife from his hand to help cut the remaining meat. Their shoulders brushed, and for a fleeting second, Evan could feel the faint heat of his scales.
"You brought back enough to last this winter," Evan said softly, glancing at him. "You did well."
Silas huffed, a low rumble in his chest. "You told me to leave some behind."
Evan smiled faintly. "And you did?"
Silas looked away, his voice quiet but sincere. "I did. Like you said — so they'll grow again."
That simple admission made Evan's heart warm. He turned back to the pot, stirring it gently. "Good. Then the snow won't win so easily this year."
And for that moment, the den felt fuller — as they had a wholesome meal.
Outside, the storm whispered faintly across the mountains. Inside, the den glowed with life — the sound of laughter, clinking bowls, and the gentle promise of another day survived.
.....