There’s a special kind of quiet you only ever hear after snowfall. When the ground has been blanketed by a fresh layer of softly gleaming white, light as air where it rests, undisturbed, along every curve and dip in the landscape. Tufts of grass here and there break through, swaying like tiny banners. A family of sparrows observe the new world they’ve woken up to from their perches high up in a bare tree, chittering excitedly before taking flight as one being, small wings beating with great fervour despite the cold.

A trail of footsteps cut through the snow; large and clawed, though steady and gentle. Inside each pawprint is a set of smaller, rounded ones. The trail weaves in and out between the winter-barren trees, following a meandering path only the owner could explain.

Tipping her heads back to watch a squirrel's quick ascent up the trunk of an old, leaning birch, Lumara smiles softly. The birch tree’s hanging branches ripple like a curtain as the squirrel leaps onto one, its tail twitching once before it’s off again, disappearing beyond sight deeper into the forest.

Clarity follows her, near-silent on feline paws. She jumps from footprint to footprint, her tail curling with badly concealed mischief. When Lumara glances over her shoulder, Clarity lets out a single, content mrrow, and dives into the next footprint.

Lumara laughs to herself, turning back to the path ahead. A river has carved its way through the forest, its steep banks making it difficult to cross even at the height of summer. But cross it they must, though she doesn’t know how, exactly. Not yet. It’s better to reach it in good time, either way.

But the gossamer silence is suddenly broken by a distant snarl and a splash, and Lumara’s pace picks up, a note of dread growing within as she wonders what she’ll meet at the river.

Whatever she had expected from her arrival, though, it is not to see a group of wolves circling something in the river. Reluctant to get into the icy water, they’ve instead gathered along the bank, their paws tapping eagerly right at the edge as whatever prey they’ve cornered below continues to struggle. An animalistic, panicked cry rises from the river, somewhat garbled as though submerged.

Lumara pauses. She’s not usually one to interfere; nature works as nature must. Even if the cries coming from the wolves’ poor prey are truly dreadful to hear.

In the end, Clarity makes the decision for her. She first feels a tug on her tail as the cat’s claws take hold, then on her back, before Clarity finally comes to a stop on her left head and hisses loudly. Lumara isn’t afraid of wolves, but she has to admit the almost synchronised swivel as the entire pack responds to the sound of an intruder is just a bit frightening. However, being a dragon puts her at a size advantage not even the wolves, hungry and restless as they are, can ignore.

She takes a step closer to the river and lowers her heads, pale blue eyes finding those of the pack’s oldest. The grizzled wolf wavers, one paw lifting from the ground. Another step, accompanied by a low growl.

The wolves back away respectfully, and slink back into the forest.

The moment they’re out of sight, Lumara breaks into a sprint. The snow is deep and cumbersome to run through, but it barely matters when she finally sees what had caught the wolves’ attention so firmly.

Down in the river, a large elk lies half underwater, shivering badly enough to disrupt the river’s flow around its chilled body. Wet, brown eyes peer up at Lumara where she’s leaning out over the edge of the bank. They’re half-lidded, the elk no doubt exhausted from fighting the pull of the water.

“Oh, uh–” Lumara’s fingers twitch as she considers what to do. She has no rope, nothing to help pull the elk free and out of the water. Clarity leaps off her head and lands softly on the trampled snow, peering down at the river with a slight tilt of her head.

The elk lets out another pitiful noise, and Lumara closes her eyes.

“Okay. Okay,” she says and braces herself, before she ventures out over the edge.

The water is frigid. Running fast, the frost has had no chance to actually freeze the water, but it bites and tears at Lumara’s legs, gripping like deathly cold claws.

The elk startles at her proximity, its eyes going wide and unfocused in fear. Its legs kick out, but the cold has made it sluggish and feeble enough that Lumara can easily simply keep it still in a loose hold. She whispers soothing words to it, unsure if they reach its ears but continuing regardless as she takes in the scene.

A long, ugly wound runs down the elk’s thigh, the edges of the cut skin jagged and bloodied. The elk flinches when she carefully reaches out, not touching but trying to see if anything is stuck in the cut. It’s hard to tell from the angle and the constant distraction of the cold water, though. Either way, she has to get it out of the water.

The bottom of the river is covered in gravel, slippery and dangerous, and her feet slip several times as she tries to push the elk farther up the bank. Mindful of her claws, she heaves the heavy animal higher and higher, until she’s finally able to push it, somewhat awkwardly, onto safe ground. Clarity chirps encouragingly at her, her frosty blue fur glittering in the winter sunlight.

Lumara shivers when she makes it back up herself, the fur on her legs and tail completely soaked and freezing. But she doesn’t stop to shake it off, going straight to the elk to see what can be done to help. It lies on its side, too weak to even lift its head despite its visible fear as she crowds close. Its breath mists in the air, large puffs of white that fade away after only a moment.

Gradually, the breaths come slower and weaker. The elk’s eyes blink heavily, and barely open again.

“No, no,” Lumara pleads, her eyes darting around as she thinks of what to do. No supplies, no fire, nothing. The elk’s next breath is barely more than a whisper as its eyes close and stay closed.

Gritting her teeth, she lays her palms flat on the elk’s side and shakes it, willing it to open its eyes again, to take another breath, willing something to happen, anything at all. Clarity joins with a solemn expression, her two paws so tiny between Lumara’s that she almost laughs.

“Come on… Please…”

With her eyes closed and her chest tight with worry and despair, she doesn’t notice it right away. There’s no grand, theatrical revelation, no sudden opening of some metaphorical gate. It’s no more than a trickle of warmth from somewhere deep within, at first; just a single thread of connection to something she’s never known before.

But the thread grows, coils tightly with more and more strings, weaves itself into something stronger, something that glows.

Her eyes fly open with a gasp. She rears back from the elk and holds her hands up in front of herself. A faint, silvery, pulsating light emanates from them, swirling and dancing like a pale aurora. At her attention, the connection inside her flares as if to greet her, finally recognised. And she feels it, feels its desire to heal and mend, to repair what has been broken.

Letting out a disbelieving laugh, she places her hands back on the elk, this time on either side of the wound. The magic inside her thrums in acknowledgement and flows outward from her fingers. She watches in stunned awe as the wound begins to knit back together, the torn skin growing back at a miraculous pace. What’s left behind is little more than a raised, fresh scar. As soon as the elk’s fur grows back, there’ll be very little evidence of its injury.

But even as Lumara makes to pull back, thinking the worst has been dealt with, the magic tugs at her subconscious. Stay, it says. Heat.

Under the faint warmth of the magic in the air, the elk’s skin is dangerously cold, and Lumara nods to herself, settling into a more comfortable stance. Clarity jumps onto the elk’s neck and curls up there, bumping her forehead against its jaw with a low trill. Taking a deep breath, Lumara places her palms far apart, one on the elk’s shoulder and the other at its hip, and reaches for the silver threads once more.

Heat, strong but gentle like the sun on a clear spring day, flows from her hands and out across the elk’s bristly fur. Like soil thawing after a long winter, the body under her hands steadily heats up, going from frozen through to the natural warmth of something living. Lumara grins when the elk’s eyes finally open again and there’s a new light in them, clear and feisty as a prey animal’s eyes should be.

When at last the elk moves to stand, she backs up to give it space, Clarity returning to her perch on Lumara’s back. The elk staggers on legs that only moments ago were too weak to hold its weight, but which now stand firm and solid. It huffs, its breath a gust of misty air, and shakes itself, snow and droplets of the water flinging off its back. It pauses to gaze back at Lumara, still understandably wary but calm, all the same. She smiles back, nodding one head.

With a proud stomp of one hoof and a toss of its head, it turns to lope gracefully into the embrace of the trees. Lumara watches it go, then looks down at her hands. The glow of earlier is gone, and the heat is rapidly fading in the chill winter air. But she remembers the light, the purpose.

And she knows she can do it again.