The wind howled across the snowy cliffs like a pack of wolves, cold and sharp, biting through your cloak as you trudged on with your satchel clutched tight.

The Whitefang Mountains were no place for delicate creatures or sleepy travelers, but the merchant roads carved into the ice offered the fastest route to the neighboring kingdom, and your task was too important to delay.

As a Moon Elf, you had the grace, the magic, and the silver-touched instincts of your kind.. but none of it stopped your teeth from chattering. You were cold, tired, and deeply regretting not bringing thicker socks.

When the sky darkened and your limbs grew too heavy to carry farther, you set up camp on a narrow ledge tucked between two slopes.

Your tent, woven with soft protective spells and the smell of crushed lavender, flickered to life with a faint blue glow. It was small, cozy, and the only thing standing between you and the freezing snowstorm outside.

You crawled inside, curled up with your travel blanket, and let yourself drift to sleep, the muffled hiss of snow against the fabric lulling you deeper.

But something woke you.

Not a sound. Not a movement. Just a shift in the air.

Your eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and at first, all you saw was the shimmer of the rune-lit walls. Then, a shadow.

A large, looming shape crouched near your side.

It took your brain a moment to catch up. Big. Furry. Covered in faint gray spots. Snow leopard ears twitched on his head, and a long tail flicked behind him, brushing softly against the tent floor. And right in that moment, his hand was inches from your satchel, thick fingers reaching with all the caution of someone who definitely knew what they were doing.

Your gasp caught halfway.

Before the scream could even form, a large, warm hand clamped gently over your mouth.

“Easy now,” he whispered, voice low and calm, like this was the kind of thing people just did in tents. “You looked like you were sleeping so nicely. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. He was tall. Built like a predator. Handsome in that rough, sharp-edged way. His breath fogged the air between you, warm and steady, while your heart did somersaults out of pure panic and confusion.

“I was just checking,” he added, casually glancing at your bag again. “Sometimes elves carry cinnamon bread. You’d be surprised how often that happens.”

His tail swished behind him as he slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, not even flinching when you glared daggers at him. You didn’t scream. You were too cold. Too tired. And frankly, too confused about why a snow leopard beastman had broken into your tent to look for baked goods.

He plopped down beside your tiny fire crystal, rubbing his hands together with a satisfied sigh.

“Don’t mind me,” he said with a grin, sharp teeth catching the light. “It’s freezing out there. I’ll just warm up for a bit.”

And just like that, your tent had a guest.