Thaw -
When the rains come melting snow mists thick, the others lost amongst ghostly, damp-black trees.
("Where are they?" she says, and he matches her look.)
It's easier, sometimes, like this.
("Well, I'll have no trouble finding you," he says, her fireballs a dirty glow in the white, and she glowers.)
And they wait, her hand loosely gripped to his shoulder while he's occupied with his bow, her other curled in readiness, listening together for wing-beats in muffled air.
(Then Snow materialises, the Queen's hand drops too slow, and Robin finds, when the weather warms, himself tumbled deep in cold war.)
