In the early hush where frost whispers and the world has not yet found its color, I walk into the drifting fog with two guardians of winter at my side.
Athena steps forward first, a bi-eyed husky stitched from snow and starlight. One eye the color of sky, the other warm as chestnut bark, a sunrise and a hearth held together in a single gaze. She moves like a question the dawn can’t answer, soft-pawed, alert, a quiet shimmer in the pale morning veil.
Obi, my steadfast malamute, walks with the strength of old northern stories. Frost crowns his fur, and each breath billows like a slow, patient storm. He is gravity in a snow-dusted coat, steady, warm, certain, a heartbeat that thuds like trust against the cold.
Together they shape the path ahead, Athena’s curious dance, Obi’s grounded rhythm, blending into the silent poetry of winter. Their tracks pattern the frost like runes meant only for us, messages of joy, loyalty, and the simple holiness of walking together.
Fog wraps around us as though trying to keep their beauty for itself, but they glow through it, two snow-born spirits, one bright and swift, one strong and ancient. And in their company, the cold is nothing, a tender quiet that asks only to be felt.
On these foggy, frosty mornings, with Athena’s mismatched wonder and Obi’s noble calm, I remember, the world can be chill and still and grey, but never lonely, not when winter sends me two pieces of its heart to walk beside.
Intwined 