The returning carriage moved neither too fast nor too slow over the frozen muddy ground, with the axles creaking between snow frost and permafrost.
Outside the window was the gray-and-white interwoven Northern Wilderness, where the remnant snow had yet to fully retreat.
The wilderness was silent as if asleep, with nothing but the sound of the wheels rolling and the occasional cold bird startled from the branches.
Inside the carriage, the temperature was not high, yet because of the dim oil lamp's glow, it felt especially stable.
Louis sat at the table, a hand-drawn map with rough topography spread out before him, as he slowly sketched lines on it with a pen.
Emily nestled across from him, wrapped in a fur cloak, holding a freshly brewed cup of hot tea in her hands.
The aroma of the tea carried a faint bitter wheat taste, rising with a hint of warmth in the cold air.
