It's lovely, saying good-night and leaving the party to continue behind them. Nathaniel takes his husband's hand as they stroll toward their tent. The crescent moon is waning, but the sky is clear and the stars are bright. The light hits the snow and breaks into shimmering crystal over its surface. It's clean and bright, the purple shadow of the mountains and the black of the sky, the white of the stars and the blue of the snow. As they leave the noise behind, the whole of it belongs to them alone, two wayfarers alone in a sight out of heaven.

They have a tent with vertical walls now, atop a wooden frame with a fireproofed wooden chimney. Nathaniel holds the flap open, his hand clasping Anders' as he steps over the frame and enters, and he hesitates a moment, breathing the cold, taking energy from the stars. Then he follows close behind and ties the flaps shut. The fire is already built; it only needs flame, preferably from a mage, or else it will take some time before they can get around to enjoying themselves.