A Breath in the Mist

The wind shifted. I felt cold air graze the bridge of my nose, followed by weight returning to both feet. My right hand was already wrapped around the hilt of my blade. Slowly, deliberately, I tightened my grip until leather and cord yielded against my palm. A soft stir nudged my left shoulder—the small companion nestled there twitched its ears, blinking into the pink haze behind us. The ground under my boots was firm. Everything held steady. I drew half an inch of steel from the scabbard, just to test the edge, and let out a quiet breath. Alive, and ready.