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Wild loved winter.
He loved it for a lot of reasons, the first of which was it tied into his domain. Life falling to stillness, death and decay and despite it all, seeds sleeping under the earth. Life laying in wait. A cycle, a death for every rebirth. It felt comfortable, this rhythm, this dance between Hyrule's domain and his.
He loved the way winter looked. The flurries, the delicate curl of frost, the crisp white blanket over everything. It was beautiful, and Wind always made sure there was at least one area near their temple that had a thick layer of snow each year.
But perhaps most importantly, Wild loved what winter did to Twilight.
Twilight was as much in tune with nature as Wild was, though his domain was quite different. He was of the animals, the hunt, the pack. He was of the wolf and the bird and the horse and the deer and the bear. And every winter, thanks to that connection, hibernation would set in.
Not for long, of course. Twilight was a god, and he had duties to fulfill, despite the cold. But it always took him some time after the first snowfall to do more than sleep, and he was always just a bit sluggish until the snows melted.
Wild would never use the opportunity to take advantage of his brother, of course. Wild and the others were always more vigilant in the winter, to ensure that no threats made it through their careful guard to a very vulnerable Twilight, rare as a threat to a god may be. The thought of twisting something Twilight couldn't help, couldn't stop, to his own purposes made Wild deeply uneasy.
No, he didn't love it for the opportunities it presented him.
Wild carefully slid open the heavy wooden door that was the entrance to Twilight's piece of the temple. As he crossed the threshold, the aura of his brother wrapped around him, thick as syrup.
Rest, it whispered, heavy and warm and soft. Rest, for a time. Sleep here.
"Not just yet," he murmured with a smile, pulling the door closed behind him.
Fires burned in small braziers around the room, keeping the space lit and providing some heat. Wild checked on them first, ensuring they were burning as they should, and then he turned to the center of the chamber.
It was a truly spectacular pile. Furs and feathers and pelts formed a massive nest, almost too large to see into from where Wild was standing. And right in the center, curled on his side and snoring lightly, was a sleeping god.
Wild climbed carefully into the nest. This was Twilight's domain, so Legend had no real power here, but his work was so tightly woven into the temple and around each of them that the echoes of it kept Wild's feet steady. No unlucky steps for him today.
"Hey, Twi," he whispered, sliding into the bowl of the nest.
His sleeping brother didn't even twitch, but his aura was winding ever tighter. Still gentle, still kind, and now that Wild was close, there was warm, honey-slow recognition in it. Rest with me, cub. Sleep.
Twilight wasn't present enough to have a stable shape. He was partly a Hylian, shadowy marks across his skin, dressed in loose, soft wool. He was also partly a wolf, a shackle around his paw, fur dark and glossy and thick. And he was also partly a bear, though he apparently couldn't decide what color of bear to be. That particular layer kept shifting as Wild watched.
Cub. Twilight's aura thrummed in time with Wild's heartbeat, gently pulling at him. Sleep.
Wild never could resist that. He moved forward and curled into Twilight's fur-that-halfway-was, wiggling his way under his brother's arm-paw-hand before settling.
Even in sleep as deep as this, Twilight pulled him closer, burying his nose-snout-muzzle in Wild's hair. His aura was even heavier here, like a thick, soft blanket, like the weight of a wolf on his chest on a cold night. It wrapped around him as securely as Twilight's arm.
Rest for a time, cub, it whispered to him.
Wild closed his eyes and let it pull him under, knowing he would sleep deeply and comfortably. No dreams would plague him tonight. He was safe to sleep here, in his brother's domain, lulled by the sound of Twilight's slow heartbeat, the smell of wild things around him, and magic in his lungs.
Wild loved winter.