Crow smiled at the pair, truly warmed by their closeness, but that warmth was whisked away. replaced by the chilling memory of that winter. He could still remember how the frostbite felt as it sank into his body, first in his pads before it stemmed out to his limbs, his body, his soul, so cold he felt like time was frozen around him and he was stuck in ceaseless winter. And he'd sat there with renewed resolve, reaffirmed by Rosethorn that his lover was waiting for him just across the bar border, when in reality she was nestled against someone else.

But that wasn't the full truth, was it? Back then, he'd been blind and hurt, justified by the stabbing pain in his paws; he'd felt the sting of betrayal sharper than the sting of the fresh, blistering wounds peeling across his exposed skin. But as he'd grown, as the freshness of that betrayal ebbed away, he'd had the chance to reflect on it and see it more clearly. He knew now that Rosethorn had acted out of desperation and, if the roles had been reversed, if one of his sisters were in the position of his mate, he'd have done the same thing. So when he smiled again, it was softer and lacked the frostiness of that winter. "Of course you're forgiven, Rose. Welcome home."