They are completely alone. They can see as far as the tiny town in the distance, the forest, and the mountains. But the only sounds are the trees shivering and shaking off their frosty coats - aided by the violent gale - and the distant, steady beat of hooves and paws.

The snow tries to blanket everything in white but a few resilient flowers bravely peek through, and the grass tries to grasp passing feet.

Esme's hand flies across the page in a flurry of excited activity when she finds a spot she particularly likes after the snowfall and rain have halted. Her memory will never waver but she captures the views as if they could disappear in an instant, before she can grieve the loss of a passing moment.

He watches her intently, admiring the way her body moves when she is absorbed in her drawings. Her wrist flicks and darts, her head inclines slightly and her eyes glow softly with enthusiasm.

When Esme has the urge to put something to paper, he will follow her anywhere. He smirks when the snow glistens and sparkles almost as much as her glorious skin, but it is dull in comparison to her beauty.

She snaps her sketchbook shut and carefully slides it into her small bag which she slings across her slender shoulder. He aches with curiosity and hope that perhaps one day she will show him her drawings.

She holds her arms out in invitation, welcoming her Carlisle back to where he belongs. He rubs her back tenderly, kisses her neck then burrows his nose there. She sighs happily and melts into his embrace.

They say nothing, yet everything has been said.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.