In all his one-eyed gazing did he fail to notice the sound of footsteps around him, completely entranced by the beauty of a world untouched by foul hands.

When her voice rang out, it appeared to startle him. First by the jolt of his body and the quick turn of his head. Then, the expression on his half-face was revealed to be one mixed with an unsteady confusion. Did he begin to fear the soft voice of a woman more than the growls of demons?

It took him a moment to process what she said, a slight shake of his melon to reawaken the stoic knight he was meant to be. All this rose-smelling was beginning to have an affect on his normal sense of readiness and fearlessness.

His mouth opened, though words would hesitate on his lips. Delayed in how he would overthink every second.
No.. n- no.. it’s quite lovely, actually. The ramblings of a tired man, surely. Every winter he had ever experienced had been cold, long, lonely, and barren. His mother had no food to feed his mouth nor thick blankets to warm his little frame. As he grew, they never became easier. So why now was winter suddenly a thing of beauty to him?

He surprised ever himself with his answer, causing him to shift uncomfortably under his own weight as he turned to face the stranger head on.
Well, I mean… Whitlock would attempt to explain himself but, the words could not be found unto him. Such a strange and indescribable feeling did haunt him.