“Get your clothes off.” 

Even though he was rather far from her by the time he said it, Kijani felt her stomach drop to her knees as Mr. Croil spoke those words. A violent shiver ran through her body, one that had nothing to do with the frostbite creeping into her body. He could hurt her. It was just the two of them, in this isolated place. He could easily overpower her, especially since she was so weak with cold. He could do anything to her, and no one could intervene... She found her gaze darting around, looking for something to use as a weapon. Something of her panic must have shown on her face, because Mr. Croil explained his comment soon after. The logic in it brought her back to thinking, instead of panicking. “Right. The cold. You're right.” As soon as he was out of sight, she slowly started to strip down. Her dress went first, and then she peeled away her underthings as quickly as she could. Her skin felt numb underneath, and her corset almost felt like it was frozen to her skin. She got it off, though, and quickly wrapped herself up in the burlap sacks. They itched, but compared to her icy clothes, they were luxury. Once she was sure she was properly covered, she looked up. 

What she saw made her nearly drop her handful of sacks. Suddenly she felt warm, blissfully warm from the core of her body. Mr. Croil... his body was so muscular, so sturdy and strong. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she tried to avert her eyes. It was very improper for her to look at a man this way! Her head wouldn't lower, though, and she suddenly wished it had. 

At first glance, she thought he had some kind of skin condition. His skin looked awful; all sorts of sickly colors stark against the worker's tan of his skin. When she found her gaze tracing the lines of the markings, she realized that it wasn't a condition, but a mass of scars. Her stomach twisted in revulsion and she pressed a fist to her mouth. Who could have done something like that to him? Why?

Speaking of why, why had he stopped moving? He would freeze to death without something to cover him... Something seemed so wrong with his movements. He looked disoriented. Like he wasn't there, in spirit. “Oh dear...” Kijani murmured to herself with half numb lips. With a burst of energy brought on by purpose, she gathered up the rest of the sacks and headed over slowly to his side of the mill.

“Mr. Croil, please...” She held out the armful of sacks, and stared at her own blue tinged toes. “Put something on you. You'll catch your death, and that would be very unfortunate...” A faint smile graced her face. “I would be rather furious with you if you died, after all the trouble I went through to come get you.” She was deliberately trying to rouse him. Perhaps frustration would get his brain working again.