They had agreed to meet the next day for a bit of a walk and some amateur gardening, but that was before an emergency case had come into the infirmary: victim not of a beast but of a harvesting tool that had slipped and sliced and very nearly killed. Jigano hadn’t even made it to the sterile halls of that hallowed place – news had caught up with him in the Rathskeller, and he’d sent a note for Isla to read at her leisure, suggesting a date a few days later.
In the end it had been a week before they had managed to coordinate coming face to face again, notes left at the bar sometimes going missed or missing, and the infirmary quiet enough for one of its best healers to take an afternoon off. By then the weather had turned with an abruptness that had left Jigano reeling, the snow piling up overnight and showing no signs of leaving anytime soon.
His clothes no longer had their enchantments against the weather, and his cloak was barely thick enough to keep him warm during the day. He kept his hands tucked into his sleeves to save his nimble fingers as often as he could, and as he and Isla had walked from the Temple to the Glade he surreptitiously puffed on them to keep them warm.
”I suppose it’s a tossup, Isla,” he mused to his lovely companion. ”Does snow kill fire? Or does fire melt snow? The blossom didn’t seem to burn anything, but it was warm to the touch… Then again, being magic, would temperature changes harm it at all?” An interesting question and one they’d soon have answered as they rounded the last bend in the path – somewhat trodden down already, at least, so they didn’t have to force their way through the drifts – to the enchanted clearing where they’d left the volcanettes.
In the end it had been a week before they had managed to coordinate coming face to face again, notes left at the bar sometimes going missed or missing, and the infirmary quiet enough for one of its best healers to take an afternoon off. By then the weather had turned with an abruptness that had left Jigano reeling, the snow piling up overnight and showing no signs of leaving anytime soon.
His clothes no longer had their enchantments against the weather, and his cloak was barely thick enough to keep him warm during the day. He kept his hands tucked into his sleeves to save his nimble fingers as often as he could, and as he and Isla had walked from the Temple to the Glade he surreptitiously puffed on them to keep them warm.
”I suppose it’s a tossup, Isla,” he mused to his lovely companion. ”Does snow kill fire? Or does fire melt snow? The blossom didn’t seem to burn anything, but it was warm to the touch… Then again, being magic, would temperature changes harm it at all?” An interesting question and one they’d soon have answered as they rounded the last bend in the path – somewhat trodden down already, at least, so they didn’t have to force their way through the drifts – to the enchanted clearing where they’d left the volcanettes.
