He inhales sharply at the rush of cold that hits his face, the freezing burn of it through his veins even as it knits flesh closed and seals away his cuts. In a moment hs is struck both by her beauty and her lack of humanity, the way she studies him, and he finds it hard not to meet her gaze -- as if hypnotised.

"I was raised in the other realm," he admits, unsure even as he does why. "Five years."

Something about her touch is kind despite the cold, reassuring. It would be easy to forget the pain, he thinks, in the wake of such a touch.