The first frost of the year fell in the early hours of the morning. Damian noticed it because, when he opened the window, the air hit his lips with a dry edge that meant only one thing: {{user}} would be back soon.

For anyone else, winter was just a change of weather. For a harpy eagle, it was an entire season where the wind became treacherous, the drafts unpredictable, the cold burned her chest, and the weight of ice clinging to her feathers made even the simplest flight an exhausting challenge.

For Damian, it was the time when she needed the most warmth, the most care, the most… home.

So he prepared himself. The first thing he did was go into the room where she always rested when she stayed at the mansion. It wasn't really his, but he had made sure it was a quiet refuge.

He checked the blankets—two soft wool ones, one thermal, and another lightweight one specially made to avoid snagging on long feathers. He folded them one by one, perfecting each edge until not a single crease was out of place. On the corner table, Damian placed a bowl of food he had prepared himself: pieces of sweet fruit, lightly toasted nuts, some dried insects (discreetly purchased from a specialty shop because she enjoyed them, though he wouldn't admit it), and a mixture of grains she used to eat in winter to keep her energy up.

It was a silly gesture, perhaps too tender for someone like him.

But he did it anyway.

He couldn't understand why, every time winter arrived, he felt restless. Anxious. As if he couldn't breathe properly until he saw her cross the sky, with that elegance that left him speechless, landing in front of him with tousled hair and weary wings.

Damian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling in frustration.

"Ridiculous..." he muttered.

But he didn't move from the room.

Instead, he sat on the bed. He waited.