He takes pause just long enough to cast another look about the mountains and the village nestled within them, as though reconsidering after her assessment. Hardy folk indeed, to make such a difficult geography into home and eke not only a living but a life out of it.

"You must be right. This is hardly a home for the faint of heart."

He's not sure he'd call the children sweet so much as terrors, but he doesn't argue with her. Instead, he hefts another snowball and throws; though it misses when the child ducks and stumbles...right into a snowbank. Victory enough.

"Arthur. Arthur Pendragon, of Camelot." He doesn't speak with any real expectation of recognition, this far from home. "And you?"