Page 54 of Baby and the Beast

Nash looked surprised. "You'd carry her?"

"You're still recovering," Casimir pointed out. "And I'm used to carrying weight in these mountains."

After some adjustments with rope and spare fabric, they fashioned a secure front-carrier that would hold Copper against Casimir's chest, protected from the elements by his coat but still allowing him to move freely.

"Perfect," Nash said, testing the straps. "She'll be warm and safe."

Casimir nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The casual way Nash entrusted his daughter to him felt significant in ways he couldn't articulate.

They suited up in layers—Casimir insisting Nash wear his warmest clothes—and prepared to set out. Just before opening the door, Casimir paused, looking back at the cabin.

"Second thoughts?" Nash asked quietly.

"No," Casimir replied. "Just... making sure we have everything."

Nash studied his face. "You know, whatever you're running from—whatever happened—you don't have to face it alone anymore."

Casimir stared at Nash for a long moment, then turned away without answering, reaching for the door handle instead.

"We need to move while the light's good," he said gruffly.

The cold air hit them like a physical blow when they stepped outside. Nash gasped, but Copper, bundled against Casimir's chest, merely wrinkled her nose. Casimir adjusted his pack fastened to a light sled he could haul behind him, checked that Nash was properly equipped, then set off down the trail.

“That doesn’t seem fair to you pulling the sled and carrying her.”

Casimir grunted. “I’ve carried much heavier.”

The snow crunched underfoot, packed and firm from the previous day's freeze. The sky stretched blue and clear above them, almost painfully bright where it reflected off the white landscape. Casimir set a deliberate pace – quick enough to make good time, but not so fast that Nash would struggle.

Nash kept up better than Casimir expected. Despite his recent birth and months of travel, the fox shifter moved with surprising grace, his feet finding secure purchase where others might slip.

"How far to Rayford's cabin?" Nash asked after they'd been walking for about an hour.

"Ten miles as the crow flies," Casimir replied. "But the trail winds. Closer to fifteen."

Nash nodded, his breath clouding in front of his face. "I can make it."

"We'll rest every hour," Casimir said, not making it a question.

They fell into a rhythm – walking in companionable silence, broken only by occasional directions from Casimir or questions from Nash. During their first rest, Casimir checked on Copper, finding her fast asleep, warm and secure against his chest.

"She likes you," Nash said softly, watching them.

Casimir grunted, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Good instincts. I'm the one carrying the food."

Nash laughed – a bright, clear sound that seemed to hang in the crisp air. It did something strange to Casimir's chest, that laugh. Made him feel lighter somehow.

They continued their journey, the sun climbing higher as they descended through stands of pine and bare-branched oak. Casimir pointed out landmarks, explaining the mountain's moods and dangers with the easy familiarity of someone who had made the wilderness his home.

"There," he said, pausing at a ridge around midday. "See that notch between the peaks? That's Henderson Gap. Beyond that is the highway. If we can reach it tomorrow, we could flag down a ride."

Nash squinted at the distant mountains. "And if we can't?"

"There's a ranger station another day's walk from there. They'd have a radio, could call for transport."

They ate a simple lunch of jerky and dried fruit, sharing a thermos of hot tea. Copper woke, demanding to be fed, and Nash cradled her while Casimir stood watch, scanning the horizon for any sign of changing weather.

"You seem anxious," Nash observed as he settled Copper back into the carrier.

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