The snow crunches under your boots as you walk alongside your horses, reins in hand. The sun's just barely broken through the clouds, and the world looks washed out—white and gray and quiet. Dina walks beside you, rifle slung over her shoulder, her breath fogging in the cold air.

"Y'know," she says, glancing your way with a grin, "I still think you let that last runner get too close just so I'd shoot it and you could act impressed."

You roll your eyes, and she laughs—light, teasing. The sound of it cuts through the cold more than the sun ever could.

The two of you mount back up and ride for a bit in silence, the only sounds being the occasional creak of leather and the distant calls of crows. Then she speaks again, softer this time.

“I like patrols with you. It’s weird—quiet, but not in a bad way.”

You reach the ridge where you’re supposed to stop and scan, and Dina takes out her binoculars. She’s focused, brows furrowed, scanning the treeline. After a second, she passes them to you and points.

“See that? Smoke. Might be a campfire… could just be someone passing through. Or not.”