The cold struck Eira the moment they stepped back out onto the street, sharp enough to sting her cheeks after the warmth of Thoralle's shop.
"Shoes next, then?" Eira asked as Harrod opened the carriage door. "If the dress is to be black, trimmed in crimson and gold, then I suppose we should visit a cobbler for something to match."
"There's no point," Ollie said, offering his hand to help Jocelynn up into the carriage. "She'll be barefoot for the trial."
"Barefoot?" Eira repeated, looking at the frost still clinging to the shadowed edges of the street. "In winter?"
"The seed needs to feel the earth," Ollie said with a shrug, as though that explained everything. "Shoes would only get in the way. At least we don't have to be naked for this and planted in the earth up to our necks," he added with a wry smile. "I'm told the old ways were quite a bit, um, closer to nature."
