Camelot's winters can be something like this, air cool enough for every breath to fill it with steam, snow piling up till the roads are nigh impenetrable. But he doesn't think they're this cold, or at least he hasn't known them to be -- not within the walls of the palace, where servants work double-time to keep the drafty halls as full of warmth as they can.

"Yes." He can't imagine why a slight, friendly-faced girl such as this would be anyone's choice for an army; but he resolves to keep an eye out for her, at least. "I'm beginning to wonder how many of us there are."