The storm came in quicker than either of you expected. You and Arthur had ridden out earlier in the day to check on a lead — rumor of a cabin that might have some supplies or shelter. But by the time you reached the ridge, the winds had picked up, and the snow was falling in thick, icy sheets, swallowing the trail behind you.

The horses were struggling, and the cold was biting through even the thickest coats. Arthur cursed under his breath and finally waved a hand toward a grove of pine trees.

“We’re not gonna make it back to camp in this. Not tonight,” he said, voice low but resolute. “We need to find cover before we freeze out here.”

You managed to find a small outcropping tucked beneath the side of a cliff, partially shielded from the wind. Not much, but enough. Arthur got a small fire going with some dry bark he kept stashed in his saddlebag — always prepared — but even that didn’t offer much heat in the bitter wind.

You were shaking, hands stiff and skin pale from the cold. Arthur noticed right away, glancing at you through the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, dropping down beside you. “You’re turnin’ blue. C’mere.”

Before you could argue, Arthur was already shrugging off his coat — the heavy, worn thing that carried the scent of campfire smoke and pine needles — and wrapping it around your shoulders.

"Still Cold?" Arthur questions gruffly.