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Svarog spent the evening poring over documents the border patrol had forwarded to him, a set of candles illuminating his study. Night fell early during Aesfrosti winters, leaving scarce to no sunlight to combat the piling snow. The howling of the wind barely carried through the thick stone walls, getting drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace.
Svarog had just neatly sorted the reports by date and subject matter when the door creaked open. An icy breeze rushed inside, followed by a small, white creature Svarog soon recognized as his son’s pet. The cat jumped onto his desk before he could form a thought to stop her. She purred as she padded circles over his documents, giving a hearty yawn before settling down right in front of him. For a moment, Svarog was too dumbfounded to react. Her pale fur was covered in snow, dripping onto the paper.
“Snowflake! I told you to be careful!” Dragan exclaimed as he rushed in after her, promptly picking the small intruder up into his arms. He carried the cold with him, even when he had pushed the door close behind himself immediately. His cheeks were flushed from it. His thick, fur-lined coat almost swallowed the boy, lined with glimmering snowflakes just like the fur of his companion. He’d yet to grow into his new clothes – and yet, he had already grown so big. His boy was a little lanky from his latest growth spurt still.
“Dragan.” Svarog tried to brush the water off his documents, though most of it had soaked in at this point. He gave up on it when his fingers smudged the ink, deciding it would be easier to let the damaged ones dry. “You know she is not allowed into the study.”
The sheepish smile Dragan gave bespoke him; of course, he knew.
“But father, she has been scratching at the door for a good while now,” he protested, “What was I to do? Leave her freezing in the blizzard?”
Dragan hugged the cat closer, letting her rub her head against his chin. Her wet fur brushed off onto the boy’s coat. Svarog shook his head.
“You could have taken her to your room, my boy,” Svarog replied patiently. Dragan had taken to his new pet – as the cat had to him, he supposed. The boy had picked it up from the streets of the capital but a few moons ago, and she’d been sleeping in his room since. Svarog had admittedly been skeptical about bringing her back home at first, but seeing as Dragan took good care of her, he didn’t have much reason to complain. Maybe the pet would help his boy combat the loneliness of this desolate place.
“But…” Dragan’s gaze dropped with a small pout before he continued, his heavy boots kicking at the carpet. “She wanted to be here with you, father…”
“Did she now?” Svarog found the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. He wondered whether his boy knew how transparent he was at times. “I suppose I cannot turn her away then… She may stay, but only under the condition that you keep a close eye on her.”
Dragan perked up, flashing his teeth with a bright grin. “Thank you, father! I’ll make sure of it!”
He put the cat down for a moment as he took off his winter coat. She almost made him trip when he walked towards the coat rack, rubbing against his legs and squeezing right through them. Dragan didn’t seem to mind, still beaming as he stepped around her.
“I promise we won’t be disturbing you for long,” Dragan assured him, “I made sure to take ample notes during my last visit to the Archives, and I have yet to summarize and interpret them all.”
“It is quite all right, my boy,” Svarog replied, “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?”
He separated the wet documents from the usable ones as Dragan settled into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. The cat curled up on his lap, purring innocently as if she wasn’t quite the little agent of chaos.
“What are you working on, father?” Dragan questioned. He lazily propped his chin up onto one hand, petting the cat with the other. As Dragan brushed over her back in wide strokes, she lowered her head onto his lap, her small body draping over the boy’s legs.
“Just some reports about this month’s imports,” Svarog replied. The salt tax had gone up again, though his boy didn’t need to concern himself with the ill news. “Nothing too exciting.”
Dragan affirmed with a soft hum. His head dipped a bit lower with every passing moment, his eyes half-lidded.
“Let me know when you take up your study of ironwork again,” his boy requested, “I wish to assist you.”
Svarog nodded with a soft smile. “Worry not, I shall.”
The way Dragan’s voice grew quieter wasn’t lost on Svarog – neither were the dark circles beneath his eyes. Dragan had a way of getting lost in his readings well into the dead of night. Svarog could only scold him about it so many times before he needed to let the boy learn for himself.
The crackling of the fireplace, rustling of paper and Snowflake’s purring was soon joined by Dragan’s steady breath as he nodded off. He rested his head onto the armrest, curling up on the cushions. The cat stretched lazily as he shifted below her, huddling up into a small ball against his chest. Svarog didn’t find it in himself to disturb them.
As he took to reading through and summarizing the reports again, the room was a little warmer than before, the glow of the fireplace a touch brighter. Perhaps his boy had had the right idea; this lone outpost did feel more like home so long as Dragan was with him.