Snow blew across the northern rampart, catching in Juna's hair before melting against the warmth left in her skin.
She breathed through her nose, waiting for the false pine smell to loosen its hold.
Hajin stood beside the sheltered wall with his hands visible, looking toward the city below while she decided whether she wanted him closer.
"My mother hated wet bedding," Juna said.
He turned his head.
"We'd come back with snow in our fur, she'd make us stay near the entrance until it stopped dripping everywhere."
Juna could almost feel the impatient nudge that used to send her away from the warmest sleeping place.
"She always knew which of us had been rolling in it," she added, brushing a melting flake from her wrist, "even when we tried to shake the worst off before coming back."
"You tried that often?"
"It should have worked once."
He looked at the snow caught along her tail, the glance making her pull it closer with an offended flick.
"Don't."
"I'm admiring your methods."
