He gently guided her down the steps, his hand slipping free to slide back into the warmth of his own pocket. He didn't like wearing gloves, they were itchy and they made his hands sweaty. But mostly he didn't like how tightly they seemed to fit. Most of his slavery he'd always worn loose or ill-fitting clothing, and he'd grown used to it. Tight clothes made him feel even more confined. And reminded him of the trials he'd had to wear collars or chains, for those were the only things that slave owners made sure were tight. 

Ezner's other hand unconsciously left his pocket, rubbing at the tattoo on his neck.

Ezner nodded at her words, his face somber, his hands working to tighten up his collar before diving back into their warm abodes. He began walking along the road toward his house, the same road he took every single trial. [b]"I don't like the cold. I want to like it. I know you do. The way you spoke of it in Viden is nice. But it just hurts. It feels like iron against my skin."[/b] Iron chains. 

He walked slowly, enjoying just being in her presence, [b]"I got to see the snow from the safehouse I was kept in. It reminded me of you."[/b] But he hadn't been allowed to go outside in the snow, nor open windows. He'd been told it wasn't safe. Mr. Dey had dangerous connections. Ezner walked a bit in silence, [b]"It would've been nice,"[/b] in reference to her desire to have come back in winter. It wasn't said with malice or blame, a simple agreement with her words.

[b]"Did it snow where you went?"[/b]