“Do not stay with the mirror,” Yves’ voice fractured against the cold, “If it grows too cold.”
The words stalled in his throat, crystallising before they had fully left him. He lowered his head and gestured downward, back the way they had come, indicating safety through distance. He could not see Midnight, or anything else, but he knew she would register the motion.
Yves took off his hat and placed it on the ground between them, right next to his backpack. On top, he rested the Cinderwake Draught, leaning upright and with the bottlehead open, so Midnight could drink from it if she wanted to. After another moment, he also removed the wapa-fur pouch from his belt. It was the one that held his most essential belongings. He laid it beside the draught and then propped the flask against it. His fingers ran over the things, sifting, pressing and then subtly adjusting again until the arrangement felt acceptably stable.
Then Yves spoke again. He said, “Take care.”
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