The winter season has finally arrived again in Ferndale, so it hurt your bones and made your breath turn to fog as soon as you stepped outside. Even though Lylia did her best to warm up the workshop with the heating stones Greg had made months ago, it was still cold enough that everyone had to huddle closer to the forge and wear three layers of clothing inside.
Greg saw Elwen rub her hands together for the third time in as many minutes. Her fingers looked red and uncomfortable even though she was wearing gloves. They were thin, worn merchant gloves that were clearly not meant for the kind of cold that had settled over the village like a heavy blanket.
"Those gloves aren't helping much, are they?" Greg asked, looking up from where he was finally cleaning the inn's pots and pans.
Elwen looked like she was ashamed, like she had done something wrong. "Everything's fine, Master Greg. I don't mean to bother you."
