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The blazing sphere glowed with intensity, its radiance soothing the mountains and their inhabitants after the snowstorm that unceasingly beat them last dusk, a daily reminder that even the foot of the Icing Boundary was not free of the ever-vigilant and warm eye of the Gods.

With relief coming in the form of light and heat, the wind moaned with ease, its flow across the region steady and calm. So much like the river, the chilly air snaked through the trees, peaks, and valleys with the least resistance.

In its habitual journey, the arctic currents streamed between two slabs; their hefty structure granted protection against harsh weather but invited the singing breeze to pass through them. There, amid the two boulders, two individuals sheltered and renewed their depleted energies.

“The sun is almost at its highest…” One of those individuals, the avian chimera, murmured; she lay sitting against the sizable rock, ears lowered forward, her mirrory eyes catching how the sunlight was beginning to leak more and more into the channel where she and her partner rested.

There was a minor groan, and Sigrid’s stare shifted from the sky to the human at her side. Jacketed by one of the monstress’ feathersome limbs, the man of dark-as-coal bangs slept, leisurely breathing while his head lay on Sigrid’s shoulder.

After battling Madakai Striigori and finding appropriate protection against the weather, Marek had told Sigrid to wake him up one hour after she spotted the first lights reflecting on the snow — but since Sigrid did not completely grasp the way humans measured time, he restated the condition to when the boulder at their back got illuminated five feet below its top. Notwithstanding, three-quarters of the rock lay exposed to light, the rays inches away from touching the points of Sigrid’s horns, and she had not dared to shake her friend out of his slumber.

She could not push herself to do such a brusque thing.

The man groaned again and released a sporadic, muffled cough, to which the owl-wolfess responded by adjusting her wing hug, placidly pressing the man onto herself.

Once in a while, the man would cough, setting off Sigrid’s alarms; there was no way for her to know whether the harsh exhale was a consequence of the last night’s efforts or because of Marek’s unusual condition, and that one of his torturous fits was about to kick in. If Marek had difficulties during his sleep, she could not imagine what would befall him in his wake.

Hence, Sigrid turned a blind eye to the day’s time and let the man swim in his dreams for a longer time — his mood might sour once he realized he lost valuable time and daylight, but, considering what happened the night before, Sigrid was confident that his annoyance would turn ephemeral.

What happened the night before. She mused, her sight glued on the man hushedly snoring on her shoulder.

The set of silvermist eyes began to explore the features of the napping human, whose hood had slipped out of his face hours ago. His complexion, normally a muddy pink, was tainted with the red of his cuts and the blue of his bruises, but, nonetheless, its shape stood as smooth as ever. For someone like Sigrid, so used to spotting northern men with square jaws and growth chin lawns, Marek’s face looked almost youth-like, and just then, she realized that a black beard was beginning to spring from his cheeks and above and below his lips.

Curiosity and fascination intensified inside Sigrid, and her left arm began to move upward. The scaly limb motioned in an unsure fashion, clearly hesitating, taking short halts while flexing its clawed fingers in the air. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, she convinced herself, not daring to blink during the entire act she was about to commit, vigilant to any twitch that his features might elicit.

Finally, her talons were one hair away from his bruised cheek, and, after summoning up her courage, she probed Marek’s cheek with her fingertip.

Her ears twitched upon making contact, and her eyes blinked, her avian mask doing great in hiding her reluctance as her sharp gaze tried to detect the smallest of movement across the fighter’s features. Still, nothing beyond the indistinguishable opening and closing of his mouth showed up.

Taking the lack of physical response as a cue that everything was in order, Sigrid started to trace her finger across Marek’s cheek. His young beard was spiky, pricking her digit in a non-uncomfortable way; nonetheless, the facial hair was immature, failing to shelter a considerable part of his skin from the sunlight, the cold air, and the daring fingers of certain chimera. The mixture of tough beard and soft skin felt like nothing Sigrid had touched before; it also felt nice.

Interest germinated alongside enthrallment, and Sigrid added another of her fingers into her lambent prying, which in short imitated the movements of the other.

She had petted humans in the past — hugs had been shared with Imbi and even Saku, but as an elderly woman and a child, their skin and frame were tender and stripped of hair, so unlike the man at her right, whose hide, at least the facial one, was more stiff and spiced with thorny fur.

Spiced? What a bold thought. Perhaps her one-sided contact with the male was beginning to awaken more-than-fond thoughts. No. The touch did not cause that feeling to arise — the affective sentiment had been increasing since she met the man snoozing at her right, a sentiment that spiraled high the night before.

She had not witnessed the warrior’s deeds, but the idea of her dearest partner fighting on his own against a horde of undead for his life — for their lives — was in itself breathtaking. And it did not end there: after his manly display to protect her home and her, the man had embraced her with open heart, his sorrowful act speaking volumes of what she meant to him.

I have everything to lose.

Her ears had not deceived her — she was his everything! Such heart-stirring words! It was extremely rare for her to be loved by a human, but to be loved by her hero? No wonder her stomach felt like it soared the very skies, and her heart had beat as if trying to break ice back then. Marek, the Wargbane — the Undeadbane — was not only a cold blade that cleaved through the enemies of men but also a caring male with a soft side, determined to protect his female.

And amid her exaltation and his sorrow, Sigrid felt compelled to balance their hearts with a vocal act.

Her fingers tipped something plushy, the shift of sensations breaking her meditation, the monstress once again aware of what she was doing with her talons. She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to notice the exact moment her fingertips hit Marek’s lips.

The fleshy pair appeared parched, a consequence of dehydration, and its tone, commonly crimson, was pale and mixed with a blue hue. Nonetheless, they still looked stunning and malleable, and it was no exaggeration that Sigrid deemed the pair her favorite part.

Gently, Sigrid’s fingers began to caress the lower lip of the man, the two joined digits tracing the curve of his fleshy protrusion, her trail smooth despite the speck of dryness present on his mouth.

It was so soft, so unlike the rigid muzzle she possessed. Last night, her true target was not Marek’s cheek — she really intended to go after the crimson and wet mark, but it was too embarrassing, and thus, she chickened out at the last second.

“How could my beak give a kiss?” She lamented with a low voice, unaware that her thoughts were dripping into the real world. “What if I messed up and pinched his flesh? Or forced his mouth open, and he gagged? Or if he simply disliked it?”

Her chagrin went on for twinklings, enough for the sun’s rays to light the owl-wolfess’ pair of horns. But no matter how much regret Sigrid felt about not taking Marek’s kiss hours ago, her caresses not only stood unbothered but also heightened, to the point she started to use her entire hand to stroke Marek’s hair and fidget his frozen-with-sweat bangs.

“Oh, my Marc~,” came up a barely audible hoot. “You have been through a lot of suffering. Why does your hope lie in facing Hissing Wing? Why can’t you stay with the hoomans of the Frostscape? Why can’t you stay with me? ” Sigrid leaned closer to Marek and nuzzled his head, her closed eyes containing a bit of sadness. “It is unfair… so unfair. I want to keep sleeping like this. I want you under my wing. If only you were healthy… If only I had been a bit braver. Perhaps... Perhaps we could be more than traveling partners. Perhaps we could be mat—”

“G— urgh—” an ‘unexpected’ grunt arose from below Sigrid’s head, to which she instinctively reacted by jolting her head back, perking up her ears, and quickly removing her hand from the man’s face. She hardly managed to suppress a yelp.

Crap, did I wake him up!? Wait… was I chirping all the time I nuzzled him?

The low sounds increased their cadence, Marek’s body stirring as he broke through his dreams, shut eyes and brows likewise shuddering. In seconds, his eyelids parted and the clinker shine of his irises peeked at the outside.

“S-sig…” he muttered, half of his body still unprepared to defeat the stillness of his slumber. “Wha— what t-time is it?” Lethargically, his sight drifted from the she-chimera to the rock beside and then beyond.

“I— I mean, dawn… well, past dawn,” she responded, remnants of surprise still present in her voice.

“P-past dawn… How much past dawn? I feel so heavy…” Marek began to lean forward, taking his head away from Sigrid’s comfortable shoulder. He scrubbed his face with his gloved hand in an attempt to appease his evident headache, an insignificant leftover of what had transpired mere hours ago.

Sigrid relaxed her wing to allow Marek more freedom to move, but kept it suspended around the man: she had the uneasy feeling he might stammer backward.

Fortunately, she underestimated Marek’s capability to brush aside the lingering pain, and he succeeded in keeping himself straight while sitting. “I feel like a battering ram tackled me…” He let out a drawn-out groan in his hand before raising his head to observe the surroundings with half-opened eyes. “So bright…” he quickly rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index fingers. “It almost looks like— Noon.” As soon as he realized the time of the day, the languor that chained his body shattered, his mind unfogged, and his eyes opened almost to their fullest. “Crap… this late? Did not expect to wake up along with the early bird, but to sleep through half the available daylight…”

As Sigrid anticipated, Marek’s mood took a disheartened turn, evident given his bitter tone. Even though she considered it right to let Marek oversleep a bit, she could not avoid rubbing one of her arms out of guilt.

“Sorry. It’s because of me you sleep for longer,” she confessed, drawing Marek’s gaze toward her, “I know you told me to wake you as soon as the day cleared, but after all that happened yesterday and given your condition, I decided it was better to rest a little more.”

Marek blinked at Sigrid, minor drowsiness and confusion etched on his face. Nonetheless, he no longer seemed disappointed nor showed clues of admonishing his teammate. In the end, the human closed his eyes and sighed. “I guess it’s fair,” he conceded without adding further before opening his eyes again, “And… What about you? Did you… get some sleep?” The man asked, a speck of vacillation present in his voice.

“I— yes, of course I sleep.” She nodded.

“You sure? Unlike me, you took a gruesome injury.” Marek’s gaze adjusted to Sigrid’s wounds, still spotted by her now-dried blood.

She nodded again, with more enthusiasm this time. “My voice tickles my throat, and sometimes it feels scratchy, but as long as I don’t shriek or bark loudly, the burning sensation will not return.”

“I see…” His tone made him sound unconvinced, and so did the slow movement of his eyes, which scrutinized Sigrid’s body for any signal that could give away the minor hint of agony. He found none, but as his eyes shifted from one spot to another, he realized how close he sat next to Sigrid.

“Too close…” He murmured.

“Well, yes. One needs to be close to enjoy the benefits of a pillow, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry,” Sigrid tilted her head at Marek’s unexpected — and not quite necessary — apology. “I hope I haven’t caused you any harm during your sleep. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I only got some sleep at the cost of your energy.”

He’s so caring. So coote~.

“Ooh~ Marc. Worry not about such petty things,” Sigrid beamed and waved a wing in sign of dismissal. “My wounds may stand out more than yours, but I’m a tough pine to chop, even for your standards. In sooth, my health is way higher than you think.”

Marek arched up a brow in inquisitiveness, but before he tried to ask her to explain herself, Sigrid raised her right arm in front of the two and wiggled her ring finger. “See this fingie? Terror Sickle took it with its jaws, and it grew back .”

“Really? That’s… certainly impressive.”

“It certainly is~,” she hooted. “Now, stop worrying so much.” Well, you may worry a little. I appreciate how concerned you are about me. “Besides, you snooze like a bear cub,” Marek’s eyelids twitched at Sigrid’s kiddish observation. “Your baby-ish cuddles could not harm me~. Quite the opposite, I found your sleepy hugs to be… pretty fond. ” As soon as Sigrid spoke her mind, her head imperceptibly shrank in her mane, which in turn caused her neck fur to fluff up a bit.

“It was… really that comfortable, isn’t that right?” Marek’s undertone seemed contrived to Sigrid as if he were fighting for his voice not to spasm by masking it with impassiveness. Nonetheless, the vocal cues were of no importance to Sigrid, who merely deemed them as Marek trying to suppress the pain caused by his fresh bruises. Lastly, her answer to his question was a jovial tweet and a radiant smile.

“I… suppose it really was.” His stoic disguise was wearing off, evident by the swelling, rosy tone of his cheeks.

A titter resounded. “That’s the coziest bed in the Frostscape for you~. And it’s always at your disposal~.” Sigrid might sound confident with her silly and happy comments, but Marek’s feelings — which Sigrid was not oblivious to — were beginning to pour into her, and she could thank the spirits that her white coat obfuscated any flush she could elicit.

With half-lidded eyes, Sigrid surveyed the man’s face a second time that day, this time focusing on the oak forest that was the human’s eyes. Almost enthralled, the she-chimera barely noticed how Marek likewise gawked at her, one of his hands rubbing his right cheek.

Time seemed to freeze for her. For an outside observer, their shared looks seemed too intimate for fighting buddies, but maybe there was no issue with that resemblance. Perhaps this is what Sigrid yearned for — within the confines of that intimate moment, her shyness evaporated, and she could decide to give a proper end to her reward from the dusk before.

The timing was perfect, and anticipation caused her tail to gain speed and wag against the rock at her back. She could finally take her hero for herself! She only has to formulate some words and calm a bit, and then their relationship would soar higher than she had ever done with her wings—

“I… appreciate the offer…” Sigrid’s illusion broke when she heard the man speak — a man who also broke eye contact with her. “You’re… I mean, your company is certainly comfortable, but we cannot afford to lose any more time sleeping.” His gaze moved past and above Sigrid as if to examine the outside. “We only have half a day’s worth of daylight. We better start moving.” Acting as if nothing had happened, Marek picked himself up, brushed off the snow particles from his cloak, and walked toward his wrapped device.

Sigrid was taken aback by his reaction, and her features, previously softened by their affective exchange of gazes, blanked — the most neutral expression of disappointment she could show. But why destroy the atmosphere? Was he uncomfortable? Did he notice Sigrid’s invasive caress and turn grumpy? Everything that had taken place felt so warm — Sigrid herself noticed the pink taking over the sides of his face! There was no way she misunderstood Marek’s emotions at the moment, and there was no way he disliked how she stared at him.

The monstress almost pulled her ears down in frustration; she wanted to grab the man by his garments and call him out for his actions with a series of barks, but as the man walked away, the atmosphere cooled, and that hatchling part of her returned. Ultimately, she no longer dared to confess herself.

Stoopid Marc… And coward me.

After hanging his wrapping on his back, Marek motioned to the alleyway’s exit. “I’m ashamed to say it, but… after the pandemonium that was last night, my sense of direction is no longer reliable. So…”

“Ouh. Sure…” Sigrid caught the implicit question and spoke, a dust of bitterness carried by her voice. Next, she stood to her feet and moved toward Marek.

Despite the mixed results of their morning greeting, Sigrid reserved her letdown and advanced to the exit of the natural alley, passing by Marek’s side. The man betrayed no emotion, his face now as cold as usual. Notwithstanding, as she let the man a couple of feet behind, she heard a sigh accompanied by an unintelligible murmur, followed by the sound of his footsteps.

Motioning to the outside, the contrast of luminosity between the rocky pathway and the landscape was the same as evening and dusk. Without trees present and the shadow of the hills and mountains becoming a luxury, the sun’s beams were unhindered, the layers of pure white snow acting like a mirror that amplified the light coming from the skies.

Sigrid’s sight adapted quickly to the shift of brightness, but Marek lacked such ability and had to put on his hood, squint his eyes, and raise an arm over his brows to lessen the effects of the sunrays. It took almost one minute for the human eyes to acclimatize to the new environment, and when he decided to open his eyelids, an exotic facet of the Frostscape never seen by him before unfolded.

Impossible to witness it during the whirling night, the extensive plateau expanded like an island floating above an insubstantial sea of clouds, with a series of hills waving across the surface, stripped of trees and adorned with rocks. With the reflected light no longer striking his retinas, Marek noticed the landscape gleaming with an almost metallic glow.

The scenery took Marek’s breath away and erased his indifferent expression, possibly even relieving part of his pain. So far, everywhere he stepped was surrounded by towering trees or somehow obfuscated by the meddlesome weather. But now, the Frostscape presented itself not as a grave for adventurers of every kind but as one of Gebaten’s greatest wonders.

“This view… it’s beautiful,” he vocalized, his eyes enthralled by the outstanding prospect.

Sigrid glanced at the man before turning her sigh to the landscape. “I suppose it is…” It was faint, but dissatisfaction lingered in her voice.

In any case, Marek missed Sigrid’s tone and went on. “How many people have climbed this far and surveyed the Frostscape from where we’re standing?” Sigrid wanted to answer that question, but before she opened her beak, she understood that it was a rhetorical inquiry. “I could have died in a valley days ago, perhaps even before.”

Marek then turned toward the owl-wolfess. “What happened yesterday. What I said… I really meant it, Sig.” Sigrid’s silvery blue eyes blinked upon hearing the fighter’s words. “You’re… the most important person to me,” Person? “Aurelio. Il Compasso… they’re gone, never to return.”

“Marc…”

“But you stand with me despite all my flaws…” Marek briefly closed his eyes and inhaled through his nostrils. “I just want you to know that I lo—” He took a pause, and Sigird could have sworn she heard a gulp, “I like you a lot. You’re truly dear to me. And I won’t stand any being, monster or human, dead or alive, who dares to inflict you harm.”

Sigrid regarded Marek’s disclosure with the deepest of interests, moon-like irises shining as her eyes widened to their fullest. Whatever was left of her letdown shrank into ice particles.

“Oh, Marc. You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that from my sole hero. ” She raised a talon to her chest and offered the most radiant smile a beaked entity could offer, her mask glowing with an intensity comparable to the white mountains. And it seemed her beam was contagious since as soon as her meaty commissures curled up, Marek’s mouth likewise arched up into a smile before setting his gaze back to the scenery.

On the other side, Sigrid’s sight remained glued on the human for five seconds longer before turning into the distance. Her heart beat with joy, not only because Marek considered her person — a human and his equal — but also because he liked her more than any other person Marek knew or had known — well, he did not exactly say that, but Sigrid could infer that fact by his tone.

Nevertheless, a dust of dissatisfaction floated inside her psyche. She appreciated the man’s friendship more than anything, but deep inside, she yearned for more.

Perhaps the way he loves me is not that different from the way Imbi loves me. Spirits… What would happen if Marek only saw me like he saw his master or other friends from that guild he belonged to? It’s so troublesome…

Upon gawking at the glowing landscape for one minute or two, Sigrid decided that they had already lost enough time and should get moving. She had much to think about, and she hoped that a time marching across the snow would inspire her.

However, the instant she twirled her head toward Marek, she was unexpectedly greeted by the clinker shine of a man’s eyes seeing in her direction. By mere accident, she caught Marek gawping at her, and not in a subtle way.

Without delay, Marek detected his own blunder, which he tried to hide with finesse by averting his eyes and clearing his throat. “W-we have plenty of time to adulate the mountains with our eyes. Better for us to get going.”

His attempt to mask his nervousness did not pass unnoticed by Sigrid. And then, at that precise moment, the owl-wolfess had an epiphany of sorts. Marek, a mercenary killer of hundreds, the bane of wargs, and the slayer of undead, was nervous.

And the individual responsible for that not-so-warrior-like sentiment was a tender peck from a winged chimera that had an owl for a face.

All came together. She joined the dots. The possibility of Marek loving her, not like a member of a family but as a mate, existed, but maybe the man, just like herself, was too timid to make a move… or perhaps it was just Marek’s manly pride taking over. Sigrid could not tell at the time.

But she was determined to uncover the truth.

“Erh, Sig?” Marek intruded, moving next to Sigrid, whose look gave away her daydreaming.

“Huh? Oh~. Yes. Of course. Follow me.” Sigrid brought her head to its natural position and twirled her body to face the North and the path they would be taking for the next hours.

In short order, the twosome resumed their journey to the icing Boundary after their stressful fight with the undead hordes. Only when Sigrid’s face was beyond Marek’s field of vision did she smile to herself. Your eyes like to adulate more than mountains, Marc. Her tail barely swayed from side to side, a movement too unapparent that might as well be generated by the wind.

Oh, my brave and shy hero, always having trouble speaking your heart… You are so like me. But worry not, I will take this fight in my talons. With one hand still over her breast, Sigrid sensed how the rhythm of her heart increased. In the end, Imbi told me that the birds were good at courting.

—————————————————————————————————————————————

The march across the mountainous range turned out uneventful. The hazy and mountainous region, which separated the Frostscape’s East from the West, was not fancied by predators, and the twosome did not have to worry about coming across hostile creatures.

Thus, the problems they stumbled across were only reduced to the unrestrained beams of the blazing sphere, harmless against Sigrid but a considerable hindrance to Marek, whose body boiled underneath his garments because of the dazzling heat.

The panting, the occasional missteps, and even the smell of his sweat were cues that made Sigrid aware of her partner’s mild anguish. In the past, Marek might have fooled her with his cold-as-metal mask, but now that she knew him better, she was sure that discomfort was stinging his body. It was a warrior’s stubborn side that irked Sigrid on more than one occasion, but that, at the same time, could not help but consider it captivating — in the end, that was one facet of that valiant warrior who saved her in more than one instance.

Foolish male pride.

Fortunately for the man, their journey proved to be evanescent, and, after one hour of dragging their feet across the glowing snow, Sigrid informed Marek of the sighting of a more rocky environment beyond the thin curtain of fog and reflected light. It was the edge of the mountainous plateau, marked with a rough, downward path with a series of peaks at its back and highlighted by pebble mounds, which the avian chimera recognized as shacks.

It was a human settlement.

“A village ahead,” she voiced as she stopped marching.

“Really? This far into the North and at this altitude?” After glancing at the monstress, Marek put a hand over his forehead and forced his sight, trying to discern the settlement Sigrid detected.

Sigrid nodded. “Sure. I can recognize a hooman house everywhere.”

Marek’s scrutiny lasted but a few eyeblinks before lowering his hand. “It does certainly look like something. I suppose I was not one of the only humans to step this far into the North.” He turned to Sigrid. “What’s a human settlement doing this far from civilization?”

Sigrid took one talon up to her chin and began to consult with her memories, cooing for a moment before coming up with an answer. “Imbi told me that, in the past, such villages distanced themselves from other hoomans to ‘connect’ with the Spirits.”

“Spirits, you say…” Marek echoed, turning his look at the village ahead. Sigrid noticed how the man’s hand shifted beneath his cloak as if trying to retrieve something. It was not possible to see from her current angle, but Sigrid understood Marek was grasping at Dalavut’s handle. He was trying to detect the presence of the undead through the longsword’s magic.

It passed a couple of seconds before Marek pulled his hand out of his belt. “It appears to be safe enough… from a glance. But don’t lower your guard,” Sigrid could not help but silently giggle at his recurrent distrust, but it did seem Marek failed to notice her amusement. “We should be getting there in half an hour.”

“Well~,” she hooted, dancingly spinning to face Marek. “I can cover the distance in less time if you are eager to settle for a well-deserved rest~.” Marek arched an eyebrow in her direction.

Their simple tramp might have presented no drawbacks, but precisely because of that, Sigrid considered their walking time rather boring. An entertained chatter was far from expected given how the events of yesternight developed, but why did she have to endure an awkward silence all the way across their travel?

Nonetheless, the lack of social activity gave Sigrid time to think about her course of action regarding the courtship matter. The situation cannot be denied — she was too mousy to be straightforward, and the human has a head as hard as his nerves, so a move on his part was unlikely to happen.

That was it, all of that was true only under normal conditions. And she wanted the circumstances to be special.

“If you let me carry you, I can take us there in a breeze~.” And until the conditions showed up, Sigrid could always test the waters with jocose chit-chat.

Marek’s brows winced at Sigrid’s proposition. “Sorry, no, that’s a moronic idea.”

“Why? Clearly, the intense sunlight had tired you out.” That sweaty and virile scent of yours tells me enough… Oh, if only the smell of ghouls were not present around you~.

“You err. My body floods with vitality, and I can manage walking another couple of miles,” Marek folded his arms in front of his chest. “Besides, you’re wounded. I will not risk hurting you by letting you carry me.”

“Ohoo hoo~. Are you using me as an excuse to not be picked up and save face? Or perhaps, are you really concerned about me~?”

“Of course I’m concerned,” Marek averted his gaze, his cheeks puffing up a bit as he motioned. “Although I concede that I’m not fond of the idea of being picked up like an infant.”

“Oh, come on~. Don’t tell me you disliked the way I took you in my arms last night?”

“There’s nothing likable about last night.”

“Nothing… not even… our kiss? ” Like a boulder plunging into a frozen lake, Sigrid’s observation caused Marek’s cool to shatter, causing his shoulders to shudder and his face to wince.

“N-no. I didn’t m-mean to—” Marek unfolded his arms and spun at Sigrid, his visage slightly flushed. “L-listen, when I referred to last night, I meant everything involving rotten creatures and bloodsuckers, alright? I did not try to say your peck was disliked or—”

Marek’s clarification stopped upon noticing a chimera jiggling in amusement, one of her wings pressed to her beak, her eyes sank closed. “Oh, Spirits~. You should look at your face~. It is reddy and funny~.” She rasped a little as her wing failed to contain her laughs and caused her throat to ache.

After witnessing how his partner was feeding her own amusement with his embarrassment, Marek’s face quickly wrinkled sourly, although the reddish hue did not immediately leave his cheeks.

“... Am I a joke to you? You’re even hurting yourself with your titters.”

“Sorry, sorry. It was not my intention~, I swea—” There was another caw as pain arose again.

“Very well, smiley girl, stop talking. Your throat will not heal if you keep making fun of me.”

“Fine, fine,” Sigrid jiggled one more time before removing her wing from her beak and opening her eyes, staring once again at a somehow disgruntled man with crossed arms. “So… what will you choose?”

“Choose? Choose what?”

“Choose between moving on foot and being lifted by me, you silly~.”

“No,” he blankly stated. “My dignity has already suffered enough damage on this day.”

“So boring~.” Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you want to reach there on foot?” Sigrid shifted on her feet and began to close the distance between her and Marek.

“My mind is set. I won’t be an object of ridicule."

“Are you sure-sure?” Once standing one yard from Marek, Sigrid began to circle the man with an enticing and playful strut. Her parade caught him by surprise, and, as a consequence, his eyes were absorbed by the she-chimera.

“Wha— What are you up to?” Nonetheless, the fighter broke his fleeting entrance by frowning and sharpening his gaze.

“Just making sure you are sure-sure, that’s all~.”

“I already established that, so you better not try something funny or I swear…” Marek left the threat hanging in the air, leaving it for Sigrid’s interpretation.

It appeared his comment had finally had an effect on the owl-wolfess, who stopped her strut in front of the man and discarded her mischievous expression. Oh, great, here comes the roode guy again.

A whistle resounded, indicating her surrender. “Fine, if you want to proceed on foot and walk more than necessary, then do so. You might keep your dignity,” with a speck of annoyance, Sigrid turned her back to Marek, who dropped most of his suspicious demeanor. However, before he got to relax, the monstress glanced back. “However, I don’t think your dignity will be fond of eating slush.”

“Wh—!” One white blur sprang directly at Marek, making him squeal and stumble two steps backward. Marek managed to stay on foot, but when he snapped to where Sigrid used to stand, ready to call her out of her attack, she was over ten yards away, trotting on four legs.

“See you in half an hour, Marc!” She chirruped in the distance.

“What the— Sig! Don’t just recklessly rush to the village! You have no idea what may lie in there!” If you’re so worried, try to catch my tail, you doomb!~ She wanted to riposte, but her throat was in the process of recovery, so she kept her taunt for herself.

She heard no other outcry from Marek, and a glimpse over her shoulder confirmed he was not eager to sprint along with her, for the she-chimera’s letdown.

So much like a grumpy troll. Her head spun to face the village, a smile blooming across her mask. Although I admit that making you moody was pretty funny, I don’t think this is the ideal way to clear our path for mateship. She whistled. Maybe I’m just making this more complicated than it really is… No, none of that! I just need to try harder; that layer of ice that hinders Marc must break. I promise: before this day is through, I’ll have Marek cuddling under my wing and we will share many kisses!

Sigrid’s tuft puffed at her daring thoughts, involuntarily accelerating toward the settlement beneath the peaks. Meanwhile, Marek’s silhouette was getting farther and farther away, the frustrated man breathing the frost that Sigrid left floating in her wake.