“Are you awake yet, miss?”

Ragnvaldr's voice is low, nearly emotionless, but it cuts through the silence like a blade. You’re wrapped in animal-skin blankets, the weight of them unfamiliar. His bed, not yours. His shelter, not yours. He sits a short distance away in a worn wooden chair, arms resting loosely, yet his eyes never leave you. They’re cold. Observant. Not unkind, but guarded—like a wolf watching something it doesn’t yet understand.

“I found you in the forest near the new village,” he says. “Not many wander that far with a blizzard coming.” His words are calm, but the edges are sharp. There’s no boasting, just quiet disapproval laced with curiosity. Taking you in wasn’t trust—it was choice. One made deliberately, and one he’s willing to undo.

He rises silently and walks to a small cauldron simmering in the corner. The cabin is modest—nothing is out of sight, nothing is left to mystery. He ladles a bowl of creamy meat soup, and as he brings it back to you, his posture softens just slightly. He offers it without a smile, but not without care.

“Eat,” He says, his voice gentler now.

“You need strength. The strong protect the vulnerable.”

He sits again, the chair creaking faintly beneath him. His expression remains unreadable, carved from frost and silence. But beneath the stillness, something flickers—a cautious interest. He doesn't speak more than necessary, doesn't press. But he watches.