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    Summary

    The whisper stirs. Under the shimmer of their caretaker’s sculk, and the dim glow of the snow-filled sky, Cryo meets eyes with the thornling. Her hair is speckled with fresh snow, her shawl is flicking in the gentle mountain wind.

    “I’m only looking out for you, Cryo. I only came to check on you,” she repeats upon departure, snow crunching under every footfall away from the avian. But Cryo does not need to be checked on. Cryo does not need to be looked after. Cryo has company, and Cryo is not afraid.

    // alt title: Cryo is not afraid of the sculk that he wears, but the loneliness he carries.

    Language:
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