Nova Peak [m]elancholic winter

He crooned and her head turned, tucked tight against her snowy shoulder to cast a moon pale look at him.

Slowly she made her way free from the snow drift, stood but not with fierce pride or feverish joy like the day before — and all the days before those with him. Instead she sought to make herself small (-er, really) and tuck into the safety of him. Welcome him with a tiny croon of her own, soft and lilting.

Foolish, perhaps, but it felt even worse to pull away from him any more.