carry your baggage up my street

there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters

Having not spoken a word, Flora's frantic hushing of the captain is met by a gentle raise of his eyebrows and little more than that. (Though he'll be the first to admit that his bones do creak in this sort of climate - what can he say, Jack is a creature of the tropics). The Ark has been left skybound along the fringes of the forest, neither captain nor crew wanting to risk getting too deep into Halo's frosty midst before adequately protecting their ship from her blistering cold.

Not bothering to ask why they are here (mostly because he's sure the answer will be the same as he expects - because we've never been) instead Jack slips behind the tree alongside Flora, though he doesn't bother to hunker down. Dressed in a forest green sweater that girls of Flora's age would probably describe as chunky knit, it wouldn't be wrong to say that they match, but Jack wouldn't appreciate it either.

As for his abilities and whether he's been hiding some from her, that almost gets a smile out of him. Almost. Instead, utilising his oldest magic - air - to cause the branches of the trees to wave and thrash in a gale, he manages to disturb a few squirrels and, lo and behold, a frost fox. "You are so welcome," he drawls.