Kijani was clinging to Mr. Croil for dear life. Despite the rain and hail, some stern governess living in the back of her head was berating her about being so friendly with a man that wasn't her husband. Luckily that voice was quashed when a rather large hunk of ice nearly smashed into her foot. It looked like it could have broken her toes, at the least. Improper or not, she was not going to break anything, and neither was he. Her cold hands felt frozen to the handle of the lantern. She wouldn't let it go, even though the flame was barely alive. Her fingertips felt numb and burned with cold, and she was having serious thought about at what temperature metal could freeze to human skin.

She could feel Mr. Croil's hands shaking against her. Even through the cold, even through her fear, even though his hands were just as ice-cold as the rest of her- she still felt some trigger of warmth, deep in her body. That would bear thinking about later, though, hopefully when they weren't about to freeze solid!

The mill, dark against the gloomy sky, was a welcome sight, even in it's eerieness. At Mr. Croil's insistence, she pressed forward with all of her strength. Something about his voice gave her courage, and she hit the door, yanking the handle open with stiff and aching fingers. Once they were both safely in, she shoved the door shut against the wind and weather, and slumped against it once it was fully closed. 

"...Are you alright?" She only spoke once she'd settled against the nearest wall, and caught her breath. It seemed her clothes had taken on ten extra pounds, as they were fully soaked and dripping with water. Her hair was plastered to her scalp, and ice cold. With a faint sigh, she took a fistful of her damp dreadlocks and started to carefully wring them out.