The wind had finally calmed.

Mira stood at the edge of their small resting camp, hands tucked under her arms for warmth as she looked at the faint outline of trees in the distance. The cabin wasn’t far now. She could feel it—like a promise just over the next ridge. Supplies were low, but not gone. The dogs were tired, but still steady. They were going to make it.

“Okay,” she muttered softly, glancing back at the team. “We’re doing okay. See? Not terrible. Mildly competent.”

Fin lifted his head. Barkley thumped his tail once. Stilton and Noodle stayed curled tight together. Chomper, however, was on his feet.

“Hey—” Mira started, but Chomper had already grabbed a piece of her sleeve gently in his teeth and tugged.

“Chomper. Buddy. I just sat down.”

He tugged again. Insistent.

With a sigh, Mira grabbed her gloves and followed, boots crunching through packed snow as he led her away from the sled and into the thin trees. Her stomach tightened immediately. This wasn’t random curiosity. Chomper didn’t waste energy.

They crested a small rise—and Mira froze.

Smoke.

Thin. Controlled. Intentional.

Just beyond the trees sat another camp. A small one. A sled. A single dog tied near a modest fire. And a person.

Alive. Real. Not a hallucination brought on by cold and exhaustion.

Mira’s breath caught in her throat. For a long moment, she just stared, heart pounding louder than the wind had been.

“…Oh,” she whispered.

Her first instinct was caution. Stranger meant risk. But stranger also meant help. Supplies. Information. Maybe even warmth that wasn’t earned by chopping wood herself.

Behind her, Chomper shifted quietly, as if waiting for her call.

Mira swallowed, steadying herself.

“Well,” she murmured under her breath, equal parts nervous and hopeful. “Guess we’re not alone out here after all.”