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It's a cold winter day, and more chill is to come if the feathery wisps of clouds are any indication. The night is probably gonna require more firewood. Broomhilda sighs and kicks the burning log further into the fireplace. Life outside the cabin is frozen, the trees sparkle white in the sun. The snow lays knee-high but is packed solid on the roads, makin' travelling easy with sleighs, worse for carts. This is where she lives with her family now, close to the Canada border, a long way from towns and farms. Their closest neighbours is a settlement of Crow indians five miles up river.
Hildy picks up her favorite yellow scarf; it needs mending. She puts her feet up, grabs the yarn and a needle. One of her guns lays within easy reach on the makeshift mantelpiece. She keeps it close out of habit.
The cabin is unusually silent. She is not often in here alone. The only sounds are the crackle of the fire and the laughter coming from outside. Django is playing with their son, using an old barrel lid to slide down the slope behind the house. The cabin smells of old wood, soap and leather. She touches her belly, feels the slight roundness.
Django opens the door, the child tucked under his arm and glittering frost in his beard. "Damn it's cold t'day. Got snow all over. Got a beard like King now" Hildy laughs. "It suits you, old man". "Ya think?" He shrugs out of his coat, removes hat and gloves, then helps the boy out of his many layers of outdoor clothing. "Go an' sit by the fire with Mommy."
"Momma! Dah buh!" the child says, toddles over to Hildy. She lifts him up on her lap. His light skin and curly hair glows orange from the fire. "Hello lil' man, where your horsey at? Huh?" She bends down and picks up a wooden toy horse from the floor. "Lookit, here's horsey." The child takes the toy, shakes it, tries to mimick a gallop up and down his mum's thigh, then promptly drops it on the floor. He squirms away from her grip and goes down after it. Django carefully side-steps to avoid treading on him when he goes to get the coffee pot. "Daddy. Hossey!" "What's horseys name, huh? You got a name for him?".
The dog barks outside. A small dark form is moving on the snow-packed road leading up to the cabin. There's a faint neigh carried down with the wind. "Is that Fritz?" Django is at the window, quick as a cat. "Thass him all right. Took him long enuff to git back here. All the way to Helena an' back." "Papa!" the boy says. "Yup, an' about time too. Come, let's say hello to Papa." Django quickly puts on his coat, takes a little more time to dress the boy, then whisks him up and steps out the door.
Hildy goes to the window, watches her men greet and embrace each other. Django knocks King's hat off when they kiss. The boy laughs and shrieks when King hoists him into the air. She watches them start walking towards the cabin, a warm feeling spreading in her breast; King's smile and glittering eyes when he spots her at the window.