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“I cannot say I’m the slightest bit surprised,” Strohl muttered as he failed to slip one of the gloves on. Trapped midway down, barely past the thumb, it was curious how it managed to get that far. Numbing fingers incapable of adapting to such cramped conditions, he tugged it off.
“Oh… Well…”
“It was worth a shot regardless, captain.”
Upon taking both gloves back and swiftly clothing pale hands, Will gave the fallen noble a once over. Then a twice over. Then he observed his own outfit. Cozier in comparison, at least in Strohl’s opinion. From the turtleneck to the presumed materials, he seemed perfectly prepared for weather, including Altabury’s unforgiving atmosphere. Mostly. He’d been complaining about the cold since they first arrived. Pointer and thumb inches away from his chin, a hum completing cartoonish expressions, kicking up snow with one foot, the elda became briefly lost in his thoughts.
Suddenly, Strohl had his wrists taken, fabric sandwiching both hands. His heart awkwardly leaped.
They were warm. Even when exposed to the extreme elements, they remained warm.
He hadn’t taken in the texture. Most wouldn’t. They were only gloves.
Soft yet without fluff, lacking the grips one would expect. Possessed no silk, yet appeared smooth. Thick enough that skin was protected, yet flexible enough to highlight bends.
And they were warm.
Exhaling a bit of chilling smoke, Will smiled. “Better?”
“I… Yes, I suppose so.”
Their faces became warm, too.