Rozalia scowled as she jogged after him; he wasn't joking about the quick pace. His long strides were worth three of her smaller ones, but she kept up all the same, and didn't complain in the least. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. In fact, she kept thinking about that poor old man, and the curious expression on Vincent's face as he put the husk out of it's misery - it had been pity, she was sure of it. So, he wasn't totally devoid of nice emotions, as he no doubt wanted her to believe. But why bother with the coldness around her? 
[i]'Speaking of coldness...'[/i] Rozalia thought to herself as the wind picked up even more. It got worse the further along the mountain path they went. She was thankful for her Father's Nord blood swimming through her veins once more. She didn't think she could have handled the bitter bite of the snow drifts otherwise. It was nipping her flesh, certainly, and she was shivering lightly - but the walk was keeping her blood flowing, her limbs somewhat warm, and her teeth weren't chattering. Yet. She could make it.
"So, Vincent..." she began talking to him - they had been silent for the past half hour or so during their climb. "Can't you feel the cold at all? Can you feel warmth?" She asked him curiously. After all, it wasn't everyday you got to meet a vampire that wasn't trying to rip your throat out, and could string together intelligent sentences.