Pausing for a moment, and slightly begrudgingly, Ishamael admitted candidly, brushing the dark hair from his face, before returning the hand to her stomach. The slow stroking of her stomach continued as if it had never stopped, nothing quick or too pressing. The skin not hidden by the blankets was quite cold. The air held a definite chill, which made contact with her all the more pleasant, necessary even.

"You struck me quite well at one point. I was attempting to remove the snow from my robe for quite some time."