Cold Hands
"Will you relax for a minute?" His voice is that strained mumble he does, barely getting the words out of the side of his mouth as he fiddles with his radio.
"I apologize if I seem a bit on edge—" she paces the back of the cave, away from the mouth where snow squalls whistle "—but I undoubtedly remember asking—"
"Vala," grumbles in a warning tone.
"—that you please not stray from the trail. That the weather on these planets is unpredictable—"
"Vala!" Skips the second warning and tosses down the radio, pivoting on his heel, and glaring her into a startled silence, leaving only her boots scraping off the ground.
After a few minutes the temperature is much too cold, and the sound of her fingers rustling up into her sleeves draws his attention away from the radio again.
"Here." Tugs off his own gloves, and reaches back offering them to her, and she doesn't quite understand the gesture until he flicks them in his hands.
Hesitantly, she accepts them, pulling them onto her numb fingers, and finding them so comically large that she laughs. Expects him to get irked by her interruptions, but instead she hears the stifle of his own chuckle.
"Come here." Beckons her with a naked hand. "Come help me fix the radio."
