He’s not WRONG. Cassandra is cold in the sort of way that she hasn’t felt since she nearly died in the snow outside Whitestone. So, you know, it’s not bringing up the best memories. (The healed scars on her chest where the arrows had hit her ache.) She’s trying very hard not to shiver as violently as she might be otherwise.

She looks up at him, startled and wondering, as though she’s not quite certain what to do with his concern. As though the mere thought of such a thing being directed at her is a surprise. (Which is because it is; it’s been a long time since anyone has shown her concern or caring.) It takes a moment for her to be able to answer.

“I think there was a building of some sort back the way I came,” she tells him, tucking white-streaked dark curls behind her ear with a shivering hand. “I didn’t get a very good look at it, though.” She’d been… A little distracted by trying to reach him as quickly as possible.