a movement across the dense snowy plains catches the wolf's eye, and it cocks its chin, gives one curious wag of its tail. is that... a bird? a human? wandering through the snow? not close but perhaps wanting to investigate further, the beast pads toward the strange creature.
it’s so cold. so unbearably, unbelievably cold. it’s nothing like the brisk chill of rito village, where the wind was more crisp air than raw ice, where the snow fell in mild wavelets rather than sporadic blasts, where the fog could be lifted with a mere flap of tiny wings. it’s so, so cold…but he has a mission to complete. a purpose to fulfil. so the child only huffs in the face of such frigid conditions, huffs and shivers and tries shaking off his frosted feathers.
they respond with a painful crack.
maybe i should turn back, some part of him thinks then. maybe i should turn back, maybe i should—
but what about dad? another part asks, and it’s louder than his doubts, louder than his worries, louder than all his fears; what about dad, what if he’s lost, what if he’s waiting for someone to find him, what if he’s waiting for me—
what is that.
something moves in the distance, too small to be a moose, yet too big to be a fox. he stills, hoping that whatever it is (please don’t be a lynel, please don’t be a lynel, dad says they have a taste for children, please don’t be a lynel) will ignore him and go away, but it’s just getting closer and closer and closer and—…!
he dares to hope.
❝d-dad?❞
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