Breakfast came together quietly, almost reverently.
Naga slid the hot stones closer with the tip of his tail, the thin slices of frost yam now golden at the edges and steaming faintly in the cold air. The sweet-earthy aroma mixed with the sharp bite of crushed jasmine like flowers that tasted like mint leaves Leo had steeped in a small clay pot he'd carried from Naga's cave. No one spoke much. There was no need.
Leo tore the last strip of smoked venison into three careful portions and laid them on a flat piece of bark beside the yams. He nudged the largest piece toward Alex first—wordless offering, golden eyes soft.
Alex accepted it without protest.
He ate slowly, deliberately, letting the warmth of the food chase away the last of the night's chill. The yam was perfect: creamy inside, caramelized outside, mild enough that his stomach didn't rebel.
The jasmine/mint tea tasted clean and bright, cutting through the lingering metallic aftertaste of morning sickness. The venison was salty, rich, grounding.
He felt every bite settle, felt the small lives inside him settle too—as though they were tasting the meal along with him.
Naga ate next, swallowing huge chuncks of meat from his own portion. Leo simply lowered his head and ate directly from the bark, careful not to scatter crumbs. When the last berry vanished and the tea cups were empty, Alex set his hands on his knees and exhaled.
"Thank you," he said—to both of them, to the food, to the quiet morning itself. "That was… exactly what I needed."
Leo's tail gave one slow, contented sweep across the frost.
Naga's tongue flicked once—pleased.
They packed in easy silence.
Leo scattered the coals and covered the scorch marks with needles. Naga coiled the remaining supplies into a neat bundle that rested across his back like a saddlebag. Alex insisted on carrying his own small pack again—the ironwood staff, the waterskin, the last emergency suppressant vial.
This time neither mate tried to take it from him.
They simply waited until he finished fastening the straps, then fell into step beside him.
Alex walked in the middle.
Naga on his left, Leo on his right.
No hovering.
No carrying.
Just presence.
The trail climbed gently out of the evergreen grove and opened onto a long, frost-dusted ridge.
Below them the land fell away in a series of shallow valleys, each one paler and colder than the last. In the far distance—still days away but visible now—the first jagged line of mountains rose like broken teeth against the winter sky. Somewhere between here and there lay the Howl Gate and the border of Wolf territory.
Alex paused at the ridge's highest point, staff planted, breath fogging.
The wind carried the scent of pine, ice, and something wilder—something musky and electric that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up.
"Wolves," Leo said quietly, nostrils flaring. "Not close yet. But they've scented us."
Naga's coils lifted slightly, tasting the same wind.
"They know we carry life," he murmured. "They'll be curious. And alert."
Alex pressed a hand to his stomach—instinct now.
The babies answered with a quick, almost impatient flutter.
He smiled despite the sudden tightness in his chest.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I think they know too."
Leo bumped his shoulder gently—warm fur against wool cloak.
"We'll announce ourselves properly at the Gate," he said. "No sneaking. No ambush. We walk up openly, state our purpose, and ask for audience."
Naga hissed once—soft, reluctant agreement.
"If they refuse…" he began.
"Then we negotiate," Alex finished. "Or we leave. No fighting unless they force it."
He looked between them—emerald eyes steady, golden eyes fierce—and felt the knot in his chest loosen just a fraction.
"Equal votes," he reminded them.
"Equal votes," they echoed—quiet, solemn, certain.
Alex squared his shoulders, gripped his staff a little tighter, and took the first step down the long slope.
They followed.
Side by side by coil.
The frost crunched underfoot.
The descent from the ridge took longer than expected.
What had looked like a gentle slope from above revealed itself to be treacherous terrain—loose scree hidden beneath deceptive frost, roots that grabbed at ankles, and patches of ice so clear they were invisible until someone's foot was already sliding.
Alex slipped twice in the first hundred yards.
Both times, Naga was there before he'd fallen more than an inch—coils catching him mid-stumble, steadying him with the kind of reflexes that came from weeks of hypervigilance.
"I'm fine," Alex said on the second catch, though his heart was hammering. "Just... ice. Didn't see it."
"I saw it," Naga said, not letting go immediately. His eyes tracked the path ahead with renewed intensity.
"There. And there. And—" His tongue flicked. "—seventeen more patches between here and the valley floor."
Leo had already moved ahead, testing each step carefully before committing his weight. "The wolves use this trail regularly. They must have different pads that handle ice better, or they simply know the safe routes by heart."
"Or they enjoy watching visitors fall on their asses," Alex muttered, accepting Naga's support this time without protest. "Psychological warfare through inadequate trail maintenance."
"That would be effective," Leo admitted. "Nothing says 'unwelcome' like a trail designed to humiliate."
They moved more slowly after that—Naga's tail creating a living handrail along one side of the path, Leo scouting three paces ahead, Alex in the middle with his staff planted carefully before each step.
The wind carried their scent ahead of them—serpent musk, lion spice, and the rich, unmistakable sweetness of pregnancy.
Somewhere far across the valleys, a single howl rose—long, questioning, rising at the end like a question mark.
Another answered.
Then another.
The wolves were listening.
Alex felt the answering ripple of six small hearts beating faster against his palm.
He kept walking.
Two months until birth.
Days until the Gate.
A lifetime of choices between here and there.
And every step forward was taken together.