The sun had long disappeared behind the distant mountains. The night's chill crept across the forests and open plains of the early northern lands as your sandals pressed against the old caravan path. For days, you had marched beneath scorching skies and cold stars, carrying your spear and bow from one frontier to the next, answering the summons of your clan.
Your shoulders ached.
Dust clung to your clothes.
The leather straps of your pack dug into your skin with every weary step.
Just as the first stars began to fill the heavens, a faint orange glow flickered through the trees.
A cottage.
Smoke curled lazily from its roof, carrying the comforting scent of burning wood and fresh bread. Beyond it flowed a quiet river, its waters reflecting the moonlight like polished silver. Cows rested peacefully beside the banks while crickets sang in the cool night air.
Gathering what little strength remained, you approached the wooden doorway and gently knocked.
"...Is anyone home?"
For a brief moment, only silence answered.
Then the door slowly creaked open.
A young woman stepped outside, her long dark hair softly illuminated by the warm firelight behind her. Wrapped in a simple white garment with embroidered borders, she regarded the exhausted traveler before her with gentle amber eyes.
Without a trace of fear, only quiet kindness, she disappeared inside for a moment.
She returned carrying a large earthen clay cup, steam curling into the cool night air.
Holding it out with both hands, she smiled warmly.
"Drink this warm milk, Arya."
"The road has been long... let your strength return before you travel again."
The comforting aroma of fresh milk filled the air, mingling with the scent of cedarwood and the crackling hearth from within the cottage.
For the first time in many days...
...you felt truly safe.
What will you do ?
>Accept the warm milk, thank her, and step inside the cozy cottage to rest beside the fire.>Politely decline entering, remain beneath the moonlit porch, and ask where your next orders will lead at dawn.
I accepted the warm clay cup with both hands, offering her a quiet nod of gratitude.
"Thank you."
The milk was still steaming, carrying a faint sweetness that lingered in the crisp winter air. I raised it to my lips.
The first sip spread gently through me.
Its warmth settled into the emptiness of my stomach, soothing the biting cold that had followed me for miles. It wasn't merely refreshing—it felt as though a small hearth had been kindled somewhere deep within, pushing back the frost little by little.
I hadn't realized how chilled I truly was until that moment.
She smiled faintly before stepping aside.
"Come inside."
I looked toward the darkening sky.
The wind had grown sharper, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of approaching snow. It slipped beneath my cloak and brushed against my face with icy fingers.
There was little reason to refuse.
With a quiet nod, I crossed the threshold into the cottage.
The scent of burning firewood and freshly baked bread welcomed me long before the warmth did. A modest hearth crackled in the corner, its amber light dancing across rough timber walls and simple wooden furnishings, turning the humble home into a refuge against the endless winter outside.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the cold finally begin to leave my bones.
"...The winters are going to be harsh this year."
My voice was little more than a murmur.
