His flush spreads to his ears. A few different expressions, each a variation on insult, flit by on his face, before finally settling into a resigned huff.

"I suppose not. At least not feeling the cold."

Tarn kicks off his boots, peeling ooff his soaked through socks and placing them on the hearth to dry. He adjusts the blanket, pulling his knees up to his chest and covering his frozen toes. Everything hurts as his body thaws.

Being human is terrible.