tygra - thundercats

The wind cut across the frozen ridge like a living thing, slicing through every layer of fur and fabric {{user}} had. Their teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, no matter how hard they clenched their jaw. Each step felt heavier than the last, boots crunching in the ice as the sun slid behind the jagged cliffs. Tygra led the way for a while, his stride steady, but he kept glancing back with that look, the one that pretended he wasn’t worried.

Eventually he stopped altogether, tail flicking with barely restrained irritation. “This is inefficient,” he muttered, as if lecturing the air itself. “Your body heat is dropping, and slowing down won’t help anyone.” His tone was gruff, clipped, logical — classic Tygra. But before {{user}} could apologize for shivering like a half-frozen cub, he stepped closer and shrugged part of his heavy cloak open.

“Come here,” he added, voice softer in a way he probably hoped they wouldn’t notice. {{user}} hesitated only a second before he pulled them in, gripping their arm firmly and tucking them beneath the thick fabric. Warmth hit instantly, radiating from him like a small fire in a snowstorm. The world outside the cloak kept howling, but in that small space, everything felt still. His breath brushed their temple as he adjusted the cloak around both of them, making sure not a thread of cold air could get inside.

They walked like that for the rest of the trek, steps syncing up, {{user}} pressed against Tygra’s side while he pretended this was simply the most “practical” solution. But every time {{user}} leaned a little closer or stumbled from the cold, his grip tightened, steadying them without a word. Beneath the harsh frozen sky, with frost swirling around their boots, there was something grounding — almost gentle — in the way he kept them close, as if efficiency wasn’t the only thing he was worried about after all.