Moonsong Glacier To regard the frost and the boughs

She wasn't Wind Flower. Wind Flower was wild and delicate, as if a breeze could extinguish her candlelight and send it flying into the night sky in a flicker of smoke and fireflies. 

Winter Song was different. And that was good — no two wolves were the same. 

He rested his head on hers, nosing into her neck fur and making sure his nose wouldn't be cold. So she wouldn't be cold, though he was fairly certain snow did not touch her. Perhaps it thought her as it's own. 

Fallen Sun was a man who had only courted one in his life. He'd always hold her fondly in his heart. 

Winter Song was a breeze that he hadn't expected, but seemed to hold a similar air. In the sunset man's heart, he truly did want her to be warm, and safe, and a belly round with food. She seemed to be fond of him, as well. Perhaps Winter Song wanted the same for him? Only time would tell, he thought — but it'd seem like for now, the snow-pelted she-wolf would be a companion to the man fire.