"It will not-- take it," she says, reaching up and fumbling for a moment with the clasp before working it open and offering it back to him. "Thou'rt soaked through, thou hast no less need than I."

She shivers and reaches up to brush more snow out of her hair. Her curls will always break free from any pins at the slightest provocation-- a snow battle is more than sufficient, and it's half fallen loose about her shoulders.

"Indoors," she agrees. "I must devise some truly cunning punishment. If the cold thou'rt sure to catch proves insufficient."