Winter hit the egg first.
The stranger felt it before Jiang did. He dropped his brood fold lower, tucked his beak to his chest, and turned until his back faced the doorway. Snow blew across his black feathers and vanished into the warmer dark beneath him.
His bleeding foot slipped from its cup.
Jiang shoved his sound shoulder against the male's flank.
The stranger's beak came up. For one dangerous breath he could have driven it into Jiang's open shoulder.
Another gust struck before either bird moved.
He leaned back instead.
Their bodies met from shoulder to hip, one wet and shaking, the other starved and brooding. Jiang took the doorway side. The male widened his stance across the egg and used Jiang's body to keep his injured foot from sliding.
No warmth appeared between them.
They merely lost it more slowly.
