How is Killian doing? And his puppies wolf friends?
Outside the cave, the wind whistles vicious and frozen, whipping empty branches and tearing the last remaining leaves away. There have been no stars for days, only heavy dark clouds that seem close enough to touch, as though the sky itself would burst open and leave no barrier between breath and space.
Inside the cave, the wolfpack lay, breathing calmly, curled over and around each other. Heavy tails curl over wet black noses.
In the center of the wolfpack, the creature sleeps, too.
The creature is not a man, although he was a boy, once. He is not a fae, though fae wings lay over he and the closest wolves, closing in the warmth of their bodies even more securely.
He lays curled up, head pillowed on one wolf, another at his back, a third in front of him. Two skinny half-grown pups, members of another pack that didn't survive the harsh winter except for these two, who the creature had found - those two are the wolves sheltered under his fae wings.
The creature shudders in his sleep, a very old pain wincing over his expression. One of the pups raises their head, huffing air through its nose in puzzled curiosity, and watches the creature with yellow eyes. When he shifts again, and whimpers, the half-grown pups slowly yawns, jaw stretching wide and then snapping shut sharp teeth. It leans over to nudge its heavy head under his chin.
The creature inhales, and slides an arm over the wolf's thick rough fur. He relaxes, slowly. The pain leaves his face, and the fear. He slips back into a deeper sleep.
Outside, the wind screams, but it cannot reach the creature or the wolves who keep him safe.