The younger Princess, suffering from what she's convinced might be a fatal case of cabin fever, is stepping through the snow in thick boots, her heavy wool skirt hiked up to avoid getting the hem wet. Luckily at 5'9, her height spares her the extra effort of trudging through thick snow. The flurries that have been going on since last night have added an inch or two. She's pointedly ditched her Armsman bodyguard for a little me-time, a rather vintage-looking camera tucked under one arm.
But she hears the sudden rush of snow and turns, blinking snowflakes away from her eyelashes. Oh, it's that little man she's been seeing around camp. The one all the soldiers have been making hex signs at. The man's clearly a mutant by Barrayaran definition, but Sonia's Betan half is sensible enough not to take that all too seriously.
And either way, the man's buried under a modest mountain of snow and clearly needs some help. Stifling a rather un-princesslike snort, Sonia kicks her way through the snow to him, reaching for his hand. "Here -- " She's not particularly strong, but she's got plenty of leverage and the man isn't exactly heavy, and she manages to pull him at least halfway out.
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But she hears the sudden rush of snow and turns, blinking snowflakes away from her eyelashes. Oh, it's that little man she's been seeing around camp. The one all the soldiers have been making hex signs at. The man's clearly a mutant by Barrayaran definition, but Sonia's Betan half is sensible enough not to take that all too seriously.
And either way, the man's buried under a modest mountain of snow and clearly needs some help. Stifling a rather un-princesslike snort, Sonia kicks her way through the snow to him, reaching for his hand. "Here -- " She's not particularly strong, but she's got plenty of leverage and the man isn't exactly heavy, and she manages to pull him at least halfway out.