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In hindsight, Kahlan thinks as a snowball collides with the back of her knees and sends her to the ground, this may not have been her best idea.
It had started innocently, of course. She just wanted Cara to relax a little, to be able to take a single breath of wintry air without having to feel so constantly on guard. Because, beyond the Mord'Sith's cursory unease related to all things winter, there was a real tension, a real fear. Kahlan had long since adapted to the way snow seemingly remade the world overnight, to the way it affected sound and sight and smell, but Cara, Midlands-born but D'Haran-raised Cara, had no such knowledge to fall back on. And to say that the Mord'Sith did not take well to things she didn't understand was a grave understatement. It left her moody and withdrawn, far more like the bloodied outcast Kahlan had first met than the quietly kind and fiercely loyal woman she'd come to know and, later, to love.
When she'd asked Cara to join her on her usual walk through her private gardens, when she'd thrown that first snowball and watched it explode against Cara's cloaked back, she hadn't had a plan, exactly. She'd just wanted to get a reaction out of her, any kind of reaction, really. Even anger would've been a welcomed relief when compared to the emotionless mask of the Mord'Sith Cara had taken to wearing.
Cara hadn't been angry though, only confused, a tell-tale line etched between her brows as she'd asked what, exactly, she thought she was doing. And, so, Kahlan had explained the concept of a snowball fight, unwittingly laying out the rules of engagement to one of the most accomplished warriors she'd ever met. Which was Kahlan's own fault, really, but she'd been far more focused on 'snowball' than 'fight' and had, admittedly, become increasingly distracted by the unabashed curiosity on Cara's face.
She should've realized her mistake then, in the very instant Cara's eyes had lit up with clear interest. She should've noticed when she'd steered them back inside half a candlemark later and Cara had continued asking questions. She definitely should've figured it out this morning when Cara had asked if she'd mind company on her walk. But she'd been blinded by her own enthusiasm, so entirely charmed by even the idea of Cara wanting to share some part of Aydindril's winter with her that she hadn't given it a second thought.
And then they'd been outside and the air had been even more crisp than usual and Cara had smiled at her, that same beautiful slightly mischievous smile that never failed to make Kahlan weak in the knees, and then...then the first snowball had struck true and Kahlan was left gasping with laughter as she'd tried to recover.
She never managed it. Because Cara was a force of nature, a barely-there blur of red and gold, and, though snow was hardly her element of choice, she could make any battlefield her own. And she laid claim to Kahlan's private garden with the same single-minded focus that had once earned her the coveted position as First Mistress of the Mord'Sith.
Kahlan never stood a chance.
So as she rolls onto her back with a breathless huff she again thinks that, no, this may not have been her best idea.
Then again, as Cara towers over her, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, full lips curled into that familiar smirk as she says, "Do you yield, Confessor?"
Maybe it's the best idea she's ever had.