*stares out into the cold, wet and snowy land* "Fweh!" *curls up on top of you*
For me, the cold has never been the problem. And despite the low tolerance against, such a weather, more preferable to the glaring sun is the frigid air. Some moments I could almost believe this particular fondness is the effect of having spent my childhood in an area where such climate is a constancy of every day’s life.
And yet, I know it’s not entirely truthful. Here within this borrowed heart lays also a different awareness: Junon, the town of my birth and where I have spent a greater part of my life, is a port town where the glaring sun is also a constant company.
I guess it’s only that the cold is not as burning. Leather-like fabric serves well enough to confine bodily heat regardless of the icy flakes beneath my form; its thickness eases out the friction beneath my arms as I shift myself up on both elbows.
Today does not seem to be the day for conversation.
I watch my hair trickling past his shoulder, blending into the black of his armour and making more alive each tiny branching viens on his ruddy wings.