I wake slowly, and am filled with comfort and warmth I haven’t felt in a while. The bed is comfortable, the comforter plush and the pillows soft. My nightgown is of soft fabric, and she has a soft blanket made of fur she makes into the bed in the wintertime, so that I will be kept warm. This also means that the kittens I have taken under my wing- I have named them Koja- which means handsome- and Sol- which means sun. Koja is black, while Sol is a brown tabby cat with white socks, belly, and parts of her wee face. They have their backer stuffed with blankets, but much to the dismay of my lover, they always end up tucked under our covers. Neither particularly like her, which I will admit is amusing. She also can’t properly pronounce their names, her accent too think. I just infuriate her with perfect Fjerdian. She grew up in a fishing village, and I grew up surrounded by tutors in every possible subject.

She says I am too smart for my own good, I laugh and say I am too smart for her good. I turn to look at her, and find her reading a language book. She’s wearing her glasses, tea in hand. She doesn’t seem to notice me, her chest bare despite the sun-zero temperatures outside of my blanket cocoon. She sees me, and kisses my forehead. “Good morning, little bird.” She says, and I smile. She places the book down, and offers me some tea. She’s added lemon, mint, and tied lavender to steep in the pot after her cup, and she sweetens mine with milk and honey before she hands it to me. She’s even prepared a breakfast tray, which includes eggs and smoked venison she’s cooked, as well as canned oranges she drained the juice from and likely purchased at the grocery shop this morning.

I glance out the window, and find Ketterdam covered in a fluffy layer of snow. It’s still snowing heavily. My love takes off her reading glasses and put them back in their case, which she slides into the drawer of her bedside table. The room is lit with the crackling fire and several candles. I know she’s fed our kittens- they’re full-grown cats, really- because of how they doze between us with their bellies up. I check the clock and see that it’s eight in the morning, hours after she would’ve gotten up. She’s taken to saying her prayers and leaving offerings for her god on the mantle while I’m asleep or away. She’s knows I don’t practice a religion, and tries to respect that, I suppose. I scoop the wee kittens into my arms and kiss their sleepy heads as she gets up to add more wood to the fire.