"More impractical than climbing trees at my age?"
"You're two and thirty, not eighty."
"I feel eighty.
She extended her hand to help him up, and he took it, trying not to notice how natural it felt to have her hand in his. She pulled with surprising strength, and he managed to get to his feet, though his back protested the movement.
"You're covered in pine needles," she observed.
"I'm aware."
"And snow."
"Also aware."
"It's very festive."
"I'm glad my suffering has seasonal appeal."
She reached up, apparently without thinking, and plucked a pine needle from his hair. The gesture was so casual, so intimate, that they both froze for a moment, suddenly aware of how close they were standing.
"Sorry," she said, stepping back quickly. "I didn't mean to..."
"It's fine. I probably have an entire tree's worth of needles in my hair."
"Not an entire tree. Maybe half."
"How reassuring."
"Mr. Fletcher!" Thomas called from his perch. "That was brilliant! Can you do it again?"
"Absolutely not."
"But it was so dramatic!"
"I shall not endure a second humiliation."
"First performances are sufficient?" Marianne asked innocently.
"First performances are accidental. Second performances would be nothing short of self-punishment."
"At least you got the branch," Mr. Ironwell pointed out, holding up the pine bough Alaric had managed to cut before his dramatic descent.
"A pyrrhic victory," Alaric muttered.
"A what now?" Jeremy asked.
"A victory that comes at too great a cost."
"It's just a few bruises."
"And my reputation as someone with basic coordination."
"You never had that reputation," Marianne said helpfully.
"I could have developed one."
"Not after this morning's pie incident."
