Yuuta slept beside the elf, his small body curled into a ball, his breathing slow and steady. The furs were pulled up to his chin, and his face, usually twisted in pain or frozen in fear, was peaceful. Almost happy.
The elf watched him for a long time. She did not sleep. She could not. Her mind was racing, turning over the same questions again and again. Did she have a reason to keep him alive? He was another mouth to feed, another body to warm, another soul to worry about. She barely had enough for herself. The winter was coming, and the bodies from above would stop falling. The well would grow colder. The hunger would return.
But she looked at his face, at the small smile that had appeared while he slept, at the way his hand clutched the fur blanket, at the way his chest rose and fell in peaceful rhythm, and she knew she could not throw him back.
