Blame the day: It's one of those deceptive ones that only seems warm by contrast to the intense cold that's gone before. More experienced Kirkwallers dress about as they had; the less-experienced make the mistake of emerging from the tower in their light desert robes and no gloves, glad of the sunshine and wondering naively how long it'll take all the snow to melt. He could do the numbers on it, he thinks, if someone told him how deep the drifts were.
"Look out!"
If Myr could, he would; he turns his head toward the source of the shout, eyebrows lifted in mute surprise. One hand's already sketching a barrier on instinct when the water hits him full in the face, robbing him of breath and soaking him through.
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Blame the day: It's one of those deceptive ones that only seems warm by contrast to the intense cold that's gone before. More experienced Kirkwallers dress about as they had; the less-experienced make the mistake of emerging from the tower in their light desert robes and no gloves, glad of the sunshine and wondering naively how long it'll take all the snow to melt. He could do the numbers on it, he thinks, if someone told him how deep the drifts were.
"Look out!"
If Myr could, he would; he turns his head toward the source of the shout, eyebrows lifted in mute surprise. One hand's already sketching a barrier on instinct when the water hits him full in the face, robbing him of breath and soaking him through.
"--Melys, what the fuck!"
He can yell awfully loud for such a short elf.