"'The weather makes changes in any travel plans.'" Miss Estiel replied, her voice high in mimicry as she quotes, brushing her significantly shorter hair away from her own eyes. The hair itself was not dramatic - simple brown, well-cared for, and flatteringly cut - but the skin it lay against was. Few living have skin the grey of half-lit fog. Smiling faintly, she added in her own rougher low tones, "Perhaps if you took off the furs, it would be more comfortable for you . . ?"

On a whim, a dragon's plume of warm air billows to the ceiling, vanishing into the cold almost immediately. Regarding her companion, Estiel once again grows contemplative, weighing options on the trip ahead. The fragile, and undeniably unusual conditions required for her companion's health were a serious issue to keep in mind.