Hoshor Plains Your future ex-wife

Lele weighed out her options. Knights in shining armours (hmm... what did wolves dream about?) apparently came in different shapes and forms and she realized only now that fairy tales were oddly quiet about, how well the hero of the tale looked like. Even less, what the opinion of the damsel in distress had been, upon seeing him first. Would you turn down somebody, who has offered to save you from eternal solitude in some creepy tower, even if he was far from an ideal? If you were desperate, you took, what you were offered. If you were a middle-aged, not-very-athletic spinster stuck in snow, you should give it a try. 

Except... she did think that despite his good intentions, Mr Valiant here was overestimating his strength and underestimating her actual weight. Just because a piece of lead looks small, does not mean it is not heavy. Lele was a lead-girl - or so she would like to think. "I appreciate your kind offer, but I would not want you to lose another limb by trying to help me," she teased him in a good-natured manner. "Old people are brittle you know..." she told and then muttered under her breath something that sounded like - god-would-I-have-loved-to-see-dear-ol-mom-crumble-to-pieces. Lele had spent many years appeasing Larkspur and never telling her a bad word. Now - however - with her not around some of that pent up resentment found its way out of her heart. 

She measured the distance between herself and, where Phox was located, and then with a sigh of resignation she gave it all and leaped and pounced and thrashed and bulldozed her way out of the snowy trap, until she made her way to, where the man was sitting. Wheezing, gasping for air and coughing. "Do you think," she said between cough spells. "That spring is far off? 'cause I doubt that this body and these lungs will make it back all the way there, while this stuff is there. I may sound like I am dying now..." she coughed again. Damn, chronic bronchitis. "But I sure want to live a bit longer."