You let out a breath, visible in the crisp air, the cold biting at your cheeks and nose. It was refreshing, invigorating even, after the cozy warmth of the hut. The thick fur coats and layered clothes wrapped you in comfort as you wandered through the snow-draped Midgard forest.

Ahead of you, Kratos moved with deliberate purpose, his heavy boots crunching through the snow. His gaze was sharp, scanning the forest, while yours lingered on the runestones scattered among the trees. The runes glowed faintly, whispering of old stories. You commented softly on the fresh tracks nearby—deer, maybe some boar. He answered with a low grunt, a short nod, or a glance over his shoulder, his silence as familiar as the winter around you.

When you reached a fallen log blocking the path, Kratos stepped forward without a word, lifting it aside with ease. You didn’t argue or insist on doing it yourself. There was no need. You knew his quiet gestures weren’t about doubt but something deeper. He struggled, in his way, to reconcile his nature with the reality of what you carried—his child.

He knew you were capable. Worry wasn’t the issue here, not truly. Even so, he would ask, now and then, how you were feeling. Rarely, yes, but it was enough. You understood what he could give and what he couldn’t, and that was enough too. You paused at the edge of a line of stones, careful of the snow that might make them slippery. Looking out over the forest below, you took in the serenity, the weight of the moment. Behind you, the crack of wood splitting echoed as Kratos felled a tree. When he joined you, his footsteps were heavy but measured. For a moment, he simply stood beside you, his presence solid and grounding. “Enough rest. The storm is coming” he said, glancing at you.

You smiled faintly, brushing snow from your sleeves. “I can keep up.”

He grunted, his expression unreadable as he turned back toward the trail. "Stay close,” he said, already moving forward.