"Okay…" I shook Snow's claws… I mean, fingers off my arm. "Well, do you at least know where you live or where to go from here?"
She averted her gaze, her lips pressing into a faint, guilty pout. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and apologetic, barely above a whisper.
"Snow don't know."
Seriously?
"Sigh, just stay here,"
"Huh? Where are you going? You can't leave Snow here!"
"I'm going to gather some supplies for our trip," I smiled
From what I remember, the residential area for beastmen was quite far up north. My only hope was that there would be a teleportation portal to bring me back to Lucarion.
After rummaging through the carriage's supplies, I found a fairly decent backpack—worn but sturdy enough for the journey ahead. The air carried a faint chill, so I pulled out a thick coat for Snow and myself, shaking off the thin layer of dust before slipping it into the pack. I gathered a few essential provisions, neatly folding a compact tent and tucking it inside with care. My eyes then caught a fallen knife glinting faintly beneath the seat; its edge was still sharp despite the scuffs along its handle. Without hesitation, I picked it up, secured it to my waist, and exhaled softly—ready for whatever lay beyond the carriage's broken frame.
"Alrighty, let's go!" I tried to sound enthusiastic for Snow's sake.
"Yep!"
I learnt plenty about this rare white fox on the way. For one, she was six years old, the same age as me, but of course, I am mentally older than her. *smug grin.
Snow was relatively shy and only slightly extroverted. But most of the time, she was just a cute little fox wagging her tail when it came to food. Well, I'm glad I could match her energy. If not for the fact that I was travelling in the opposite direction from my home, perhaps I would have enjoyed my journey with her a little more.
With the sun slowly dipping beyond the treetops, I set my backpack against the trunk of a nearby oak and began pitching the tent. The fabric rustled softly as I unfolded it, driving the stakes into the cool earth and securing the corners one by one. The faint scent of grass and resin lingered in the air while the last of the sunlight painted the world in gold.
Snow watched quietly from a short distance, her ears twitching at every sound of flapping canvas. When I stepped back to check the final knot, she tilted her head slightly and whispered, "Thank you."
I turned to her with a faint smile. "You know, you could learn how to do this too if you'd like."
Her eyes brightened in surprise, curiosity replacing her usual shyness. "Snow can?"
"Of course." I handed her one of the spare pegs. "Here—try securing this corner. Keep it steady, like this."
She mimicked my motions, fumbling at first but slowly finding her rhythm as I guided her hands. The tent swayed slightly, then steadied when she pressed the final peg into the ground.
"See? Not bad for your first time," I said, brushing the dirt from her palms.
A small, proud smile bloomed across her face. "Hehe… then next time, Snow'll do it myself."
"Deal," I replied, amused, as the last rays of sunlight slipped into twilight.
As dusk deepened into amber twilight, I whispered, "Fire—Flame."
A soft glow bloomed in my palm, the spark curling upward into a small, steady flame. It wavered gently like a living thing, its warmth pushing back the chill that had begun to settle over the forest. The light caught in Snow's hair, turning the silvery strands into threads of gold.
"I'll go hunt something for dinner," I said, closing my hand and letting the flame vanish into a thin wisp of smoke.
Snow's ears twitched immediately. "Snow wants to come too," she said, her voice quiet but certain.
I paused, half-smiling. "You sure? It's getting dark."
She nodded, clutching the edge of my coat. "Snow'll stay close. Promise."
We walked side by side through the dim woods, the world wrapped in a hush broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of night birds. I let my senses stretch out, following faint signs of life until I spotted a hare grazing near a patch of moss. With a murmured word, I conjured a glimmer of moonlight to distract it—just enough time to move in swiftly and end it cleanly.
Snow flinched a little, her small hand tightening around my sleeve. But when our eyes met, I saw only quiet understanding. She didn't look away. She just nodded softly, as if to say she understood that survival sometimes required stillness rather than softness.
Back at the camp, I set to work cleaning and preparing the hare while Snow helped gather firewood. Her little hands trembled at first, but she pushed through it with quiet determination, glancing up each time to see if I was watching. When I smiled in approval, her tail flicked once, betraying her pride.
The fire soon crackled brightly, sending tiny embers spiralling into the air like drifting stars. I roasted the meat carefully, turning it over the flames while Snow sat across from me, hugging her knees. The scent of cooking filled the clearing—earthy, warm, comforting. Her nose twitched as she leaned forward, eyes half-lidded from the heat, her expression a mixture of hunger and wonder.
When it was finally done, I tore off a small piece and held it out. "Careful—it's still hot."
She took it with both hands, blew on it softly, and bit into it. For a moment, her entire body stilled. Then her eyes widened, sparkling like moonlight on water.
"Mm!" she gasped, cheeks puffing slightly as she chewed. "It's… It's so good! Warm and juicy and—ahh!—it melts!"
I couldn't help but laugh. "Eat slowly, or you'll burn your tongue."
"But it's so tasty!" she protested between hurried bites, her tail wagging behind her in small, uncontrollable swishes. She paused to take another, slower bite, savouring it this time. A soft hum escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes in contentment. "It's warm inside now," she murmured, pressing a hand against her chest as though trying to hold on to the feeling.
I handed her another piece, smaller this time. "Food tastes better when you've worked for it, huh?"
She nodded, her expression softening. "It's not just the food… It's because you made it."
Her words caught me off guard, quiet but sincere. For a long moment, I simply watched her by the fire—the way the flames reflected in her eyes, the faint blush warming her cheeks, the way her ears drooped lazily as drowsiness began to settle in.
I reached over and gently brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth. "Then I'll keep cooking for you," I said softly. "So long as you keep smiling like that."
Snow blinked, her eyes shimmering in the firelight. "Promise?"
"Promise."
She smiled sleepily and leaned against my shoulder, the warmth of her small body mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire. Around us, the forest whispered with night sounds—but for that brief, fragile moment, everything felt still and safe.
The forest had fallen silent save for the soft crackle of fire and the distant whisper of crickets. The flames had burned low now, their light a mellow orange glow that flickered against the tent and the trees around us.
Snow sat nestled at my side, her small form wrapped in the oversized coat I'd given her. Every few moments, she let out a faint hum of contentment, her tail twitching lazily beneath the fabric. She'd eaten her fill, and though she tried to stay awake, her blinks were getting slower, heavier.
"Warm…" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "So warm…"
I glanced down at her. Her eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering like tiny feathers. "Told you the fire would help," I said quietly, stoking the embers with a stick. "You should rest now. We've had a long day."
"Mmh…" She shifted closer, leaning her head against my arm. "Can I… stay like this for a bit?"
"Yeah," I replied softly, my voice almost blending with the night breeze. "As long as you want."
For a while, neither of us spoke. The fire sighed, the stars wheeled slowly above, and the scent of pine mingled with smoke and earth. I tilted my head back, letting the cool air brush against my face, and for the first time that day, my body felt lighter—at ease.
Then I felt a faint tug at my sleeve. Snow's small hand clutched the fabric weakly, her voice slurred with sleep. "Nii-chan… thank you… for the food…"
Her words faded into a quiet yawn. I looked down to find her already asleep, her breathing slow and steady, her fingers still curled around my sleeve as if afraid I might vanish if she let go.
A faint smile tugged at my lips. I reached out, brushing a few stray strands of silver hair from her face. "You're safe now," I whispered, barely audible even to myself.
The fire crackled softly in reply, casting fleeting shadows across her peaceful expression. I adjusted her coat to keep her warm and sat back, letting the forest lull me into stillness.
Above us, the stars shimmered through the gaps in the leaves—cold, distant, and endless. Yet somehow, beneath their watchful light, the little patch of ground we occupied felt like the warmest place in the world.
We sat under that oak tree and continued to chat about our homes, each longing to return.
"What's your village like?" I asked.
Snow's ears drooped, and her smile wavered.
"It's very chaotic. Do you know why we, the snow foxes, are so rare?"
I shook my head.
"We're one of the very few that can't wield astralis. We have no affinity to any of the elements," She paused on that note before continuing.
"Therefore, other tribes often attack us, resulting in many deaths." She spoke solemnly as if recalling something.
"But," Snow's ears perked up as her smile returned. "A Celestian who took pity on us put up a barrier to defend us from enemy attacks, so now it's nice and fun!"
I nodded slowly, trying to take in all the information.
"How about yours? What's the human kingdom like? How are the humans there?" Snow suddenly asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"The human kingdom… I don't know. I haven't been to the city yet. Right now, I'm just staying in a small town called Starhaven. It's quite safe there. The humans there are nice and all, but that's about it."
"Ah, I see now!"
I go on, explaining more about my town of Starhaven and a little about my family.
Getting up, I held out my hand for her to get up too. I swear, I saw her blush, but I think my eyes were playing with me in the dark.
"Come on, don't worry, I'll sleep next to you, I've already placed a barrier spell over this place," I smiled at the petite figure in the dark.
"Ok…" she replied reluctantly.
"If you don't sleep now, you'll become a zombie, Rawrr!" I teased, mimicking a zombie.
"Aaaahh!" Snow giggled as she scurried into the tent.
"Hahaha," I chuckled, and we slowly drifted off to sleep.
My eyes fluttered open on their own, and it took a few seconds to remember where I was. I looked down to see Snow's head on my lap, her body curled up comfortably.
Gently shaking her awake, I whispered, "Snow, we probably should head out now. Snow, wake up,"
Snow rubbed her eyes as she slowly stirred awake. Her eyes half opened, she murmured, "Snow sleep some more…"
No choice, I scooped her up and placed her as gently as possible onto my back, and placed the rest of our belongings into my item box.
Why didn't I think about doing that before?
Stupid me.
As I balanced Snow's body onto my back, I couldn't help but think about how light she was.
"Snow, where do we go from here?" I asked.
Sniff Sniff
"Go straight and then…" She murmured, half asleep.
"And then?"
"...and then turn right to the right crossroad…" She yawned.
A few uneventful days slipped by when, out of nowhere, a sharp ache erupted deep within my astral core. The first wave hit on the third night of our journey. We were in the tent, Snow already fast asleep beside me, when a sudden, searing pain flared from my sternum and spread like fire through my veins. It vanished as quickly as it came, but the brief agony left me trembling, my breath ragged in the cold night air.
Aside from that, the most "eventful" moment came when a pair of Direwolves prowled too close to our camp. One low snarl from the Lupine Crown was all it took to send them scurrying back into the shadows.
The nights that followed were quiet, almost peaceful. Snow had grown far more comfortable around me—comfortable enough to doze off clinging to my sleeve, or oversleep until sunlight spilled through the tent flaps. Our conversations flowed more naturally now, the awkward silences replaced with gentle teasing and soft laughter. Once, she even puffed up her cheeks and told me I "talk too much like an adult," before bursting into giggles.
Thankfully, the stabbing pain in my core didn't return, and our pace remained steady. No tree golems. No predators with an appetite for wanderers. Just the endless whisper of leaves and the rhythm of our footsteps guiding us forward.
On the fifth morning, as the mist thinned and sunlight filtered through the trees, I glanced at Snow walking beside me, her tail swaying lazily behind her.
"Snow," I asked, breaking the comfortable silence, "can you tell how far we are from your town now?"
Her fluffy ears perked up at my question, twitching faintly as she scanned the forest with a sudden spark of recognition. Then, without warning, she darted toward a crooked old tree leaning slightly over the path.
I watched as she ran her small fingers along the bark, tracing its rough grooves as though searching for something precious. Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the leaves—until she turned back to me, eyes alight with joy.
"That tree!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement. "I used to come here with my Grampy sometimes! I remember… I carved my name into the trunk when he wasn't looking."
She pointed at a faint set of scratches half-hidden beneath a layer of moss—childlike letters etched into the wood long ago. "We're not too far anymore! If we hurry a little, we might make it by tonight!"
A soft smile tugged at my lips as I met her gleaming eyes. "Sounds good," I said quietly, adjusting my pack before following after her.
The forest seemed lighter that morning, every breeze carrying a hint of warmth, as if sharing in her joy. Yet beneath that warmth, a quiet ache lingered in my chest.
As lovely as the journey had been, I needed to start thinking about my way home—something I couldn't do until she reached hers.
…Though, if I were being honest with myself, I'd probably miss her once she was gone.
By noon, the sun hung high above the treetops, scattering specks of gold through the leaves. We decided to stop for lunch near a quiet stream that wound lazily between mossy rocks. I gathered a few herbs and spices from my pack, while Snow, eager to help, went to fetch some water.
Soon, the scent of roasting meat and simmering broth filled the air. Snow sat across from me, her tail flicking back and forth as she tried to wait patiently—but her eyes never left the pan.
When I finally handed her a portion, she accepted it with both hands, her ears perked so high I couldn't help but laugh.
"Careful, it's hot," I warned.
She nodded but still took a bite too soon. A small yelp escaped her, followed by a stubborn pout as she waved her hands in front of her mouth. "Hot! But… good," she mumbled through a half-chewed bite.
Watching her eat, cheeks puffed and tail wagging, made the quiet forest feel almost like home.
We rested a little after that, letting the wind cool the air and the sound of the stream fill the silence. Then, as the day began to fade, we resumed our journey.
The forest changed as dusk fell—the air cooler, the shadows longer, the light softer. Snow slowed her steps, eyes scanning the trees with growing anticipation. Then, without warning, she stopped before a stretch of overgrown roots and pressed her hand against the ground.
She whispered something under her breath, a chant so faint it was almost carried away by the wind. The air shimmered. Lines of pale blue light spread outward like ripples across water, tracing the outline of something invisible.
And then, before my eyes, the illusion peeled away.
Where there had once been only trees and tangled vines, great wooden gates emerged—weathered yet standing proud, engraved with ancient symbols that glowed faintly in the twilight.
Snow's face lit up with wonder and relief. Her ears trembled as she took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she stood before the gates.
She turned to me, eyes soft and full of emotion.
"We're here," she said quietly.
I could only nod. "Yeah… you made it."
For a moment, she lingered, fingers brushing against the carved wood. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed her palm to the sigil at the centre. The gates creaked open, light spilling through the cracks like the first rays of dawn.
Snow walked inside without looking back—her small silhouette framed by the glow of home.