I listen to the aircraft's approach, calculating distance and trajectory through subtle vibrations in the air. With minimal concentration, I thicken the snowfall in our vicinity, creating a curtain of white that will obscure the cabin from aerial view. The maneuver requires little effort—winter responds to my will effortlessly, eager to protect its guardian.
"They can't see us?" she asks.
"Not through this," I confirm. "They're searching a grid pattern. Methodical, but unlikely to find this location without direct coordinates."
Relief crosses her features before she catches herself, confusion following quickly after. "I should want them to find me."
"Yes." I make no attempt to influence her decision, though every fiber of my being wants to keep her here, hidden away in my winter sanctuary.
She sits up, fur wrapped around her shoulders, expression troubled. "I've lost my mind, haven't I? Stockholm syndrome or hypothermia-induced delusions or..."
"No." I rise to a sitting position beside her, careful to give her space. "What's happening between us is real. Unusual, but real."
"A bond," she says, echoing our earlier conversation. "Between a winter guardian and a human."
"The beginning of one." I choose my words carefully, unwilling to pressure or mislead her. "It requires choice to strengthen. Intention."
The helicopter sounds grow louder, then begin to fade as the aircraft passes to the north of our position. Freya listens until the engine noise diminishes, her expression unreadable.
"Tell me more about this connection between us," she says finally. "What exactly is happening to me? To us?"
I consider how to explain something I've only witnessed in others, never experienced myself. "Winter entities rarely form connections with humans. Our nature makes it... difficult."
"The whole freezing-people-with-a-touch thing," she says with a small smile.
"Yes." I find myself almost smiling in return, still surprised by her ability to find humor in our impossible situation. "But occasionally, very rarely, a human can withstand our cold. Whenphysical contact doesn't harm them, it creates the possibility of something deeper."
"And that's what's happening now? Because I didn't freeze when you touched me?"
"It's more than that." I gesture to the frost patterns still visible on her skin where my hand rests near her shoulder. "Your body accepts the winter in a way that shouldn't be possible. And mine..." I hesitate, reluctant to reveal the full truth.
"Yours what?" she prompts.
"My body warms at your touch. Not unpleasantly, but noticeably." I meet her gaze directly. "In five centuries, I've never experienced anything like it."
She absorbs this, fingers absently tracing the frost patterns on her skin. "So what happens now? With this connection between us?"
"It depends on what we choose." I rise, uncomfortable discussing such matters while still unclothed. The vulnerability feels excessive, even after the intimacy we've shared. I gather my clothing, dressing with efficient movements while gathering my thoughts.
Freya follows suit, pulling on her thermal layers with practical grace. Fully clothed, she seems more composed, more herself—the capable photographer rather than the vulnerable lover.
"What choices do we have?" she asks, voice steadier now.
I move to the window, watching the snow I've summoned swirl in thickened patterns. "We can let it fade. If we part and do not see each other again, the connection will diminish over time."
"Or?"
"Or we can strengthen it. Through continued contact, through..." I gesture vaguely between us, "physical connection. Through mutual choice."
"And if we strengthen it? What then?"
I turn to face her. "It would change you. Not completely, but meaningfully."
"How?" Her practical nature demands specifics, not mystical generalities.
"You would become more resistant to cold, beyond what you already demonstrate. You would sense the seasons differently, feel the approach of winter in your blood. Your life might extend somewhat, though not indefinitely."
Her eyes widen at this last detail. "How long?"
