[Alvar's POV – Haze Mountains]
The steady rhythm of the horse's hooves echoed in the snow-veiled silence. The moonlight glazed the path in pale silver, and the mountains loomed faintly ahead, their peaks swallowed in mist.
Leif shifted against me, soft breath brushing my throat, utterly unguarded. His head rested against my chest, his body loose with sleep, as though the bitter cold and the endless road didn't exist for him.
I glanced around, gauging the shadows of the pines before murmuring to myself, "...It's quiet here. A good place to stop for the night."
Then my eyes drifted back down. "Leif."
He only made a soft sound in his sleep, a small hum, before nestling closer as if the snow itself was pushing him into me. His hair tickled my chin.
I should have looked away. I should have ignored it. But instead, my hand betrayed me—my thumb brushed lightly across his cheek. Warm, flushed, impossibly soft. The word slipped out before I could stop it.
"...Cute."
