There's a blast of cold air as the door opens, and then: "Good morning!" comes Caspian's cheerful voice. He stomps snow off his boots and ruffles snow out of his hair with fingers covered in woolen gloves, smiling and bright and pleased as a small child.

He takes the gloves off and sticks them haphazardly in a pocket as he comes towards her, enjoying the warmth of the stables, the sweet scent of hay before he notices her rubbing at her hands. "Cold?" he asks, even as he takes her hands between his warm ones, gently rubbing her chilly fingers.