Hunter had found her in the woods, barely more than a ghost in the snow. Leaving her had never been an option. He took her in, gave her warmth, food, shelter—watched as she grew from a frail, silent girl into something wild and curious. She followed him everywhere, wandering beyond the safety of their little home, eyes always seeking, always hungry for the world beyond the trees. He scolded her for it, but she never listened.

He was used to solitude, to the quiet weight of survival. Yet, somehow, the cottage they shared no longer felt cold.

Returning from another hunt, he left his kill outside and stepped in, shaking off the frost. The scent of burning wood and dried herbs filled the space, and there she was—curled by the fire, wrapped in thick furs, her silken hair glowing in the flickering light. She looked up at him and smiled. The warmth of it settled deep in his chest, something he didn’t dare name.

A week later, after days of hard hunting and careful trade, he returned with more than just supplies. From his pack, he withdrew a carefully wrapped bundle—so fine, so costly, it felt foolish in his rough hands. And yet, he had bought it without hesitation.

She unwrapped it slowly, fingers brushing over the deep blue fabric. It was a dress—rich in color, embroidered with silver thread like frozen rivers. The kind noblewomen wore, not something meant for the hard life of the wilderness.