Camping With the Boys

Ludovic’s gaze flicked over to Xairo, a trace of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched his brother stiffen against the cold, his breath curling visibly in the biting air. The wind barely affected Ludo—his thick, chimeric coat did its job well enough, though he couldn’t pretend it was comfortable. Ice clung to his fur in patches, and as he flexed his paws, he realized how numb his toes had grown from the packed snow wedging itself between them. Damn, he thought, I can't feel half my toes. But he’d always been good at handling the cold—maybe a little too good for his own good. Hadn’t they been born in the winter? Isn’t there a reward for that shit? Some kind of fur blessing. Briefly he remembered when Zagan went around in a coat—cold from a lack of fur. But he didn’t bring it up, not in the mood for getting bit or jabbed with those horns.

With an easy gait, he padded over to where Xairo was digging, each step deliberately slow to conserve heat and energy. "You know," he drawled, watching his brother’s grimace, "if you keep scowling like that, your face might freeze that way.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, punctuated by a wry chuckle. “And no one wants a permanently grumpy Xairo, now, do they?” He leaned down, nudging Xairo with his shoulder in a mock attempt to lighten the mood. His tone was casual, but he kept an eye on Xairo’s furrowed brow, the tight set of his jaw. His brother’s didn’t exactly speak their emotions, none of them did; so Ludovic had taken to looking deeper in. The cold was biting harder at him than he let on, maybe it was doing the same to all three of them.

Without skipping a beat, Ludo dropped the playful tone and crouched down, clawing the ground in steady, efficient motions to clear the snow. Each movement was exact, conserving his warmth as he worked. “Good thinking,” he murmured approvingly, inclining his head toward the bedding materials Xairo had begun gathering. “Better to stop now and keep ourselves in one piece than freeze halfway back.” His voice softened slightly, though it retained that neutral timbre, the one he wore whenever he offered praise sparingly. Not that it was necessary, but Ludovic wasn’t tight-lipped enough to enjoy silence. He rather liked the sound of his own voice, too.

He glanced over to Zagan, his mismatched eyes narrowing ever so slightly. It was an unspoken question, a half-smirk that asked Zagan to help—unless you’d rather sleep on the frozen dirt, his look seemed to say.

Ludovic couldn’t hold back a laugh as he watched Zagan, head held high in that defiant way of his, march off to collect logs instead of stooping to help with the bedding. A grin broke over his face, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well, at least he’s got pride to keep him warm," he muttered to Xairo, his tone light with teasing. There was no real frustration there, only the easy, familiar dance of their differing stubborn streaks playing out. It was too normal to bother him.

As the minutes stretched on, Ludovic’s grin faded into a thoughtful look, and he continued helping to layer pine needles and build up a low snow wall to help with the wind. Every so often, he’d glance up, watching as Zagan brought fire materials. Ludovic straightened, watching him as he’d finished his own task already.

Wordlessly, Zagan began arranging the logs and kindling, drawing his knife and striking it against a rock—a few moments later, the sharp crackle of a fire flickered to life. Ludovic felt the immediate warmth wash over his face, and he stretched his paws toward it, sighing contentedly as the heat chased away the numbness in his toes.

“Well, look at that,” he drawled, amused, “Zagan the fire-making prodigy.” The flames danced, shadows flickering over their coats, and for a moment, he felt a quiet satisfaction settle in his chest.


wc: 673 words

"Ludovic Praetor-Inferos"