Nova Peak wintergebunden

the ricochet of sneezing caught mahler's attention. he followed the staccato sound until he found the matron and her robes of ash-grey, face downturned toward the earth. "perhaps the changing air is not something your nose finds agreeable," mahler rumbled, though the thought came to him that perhaps she was growing ill.
it was also the nature of this season to induce illness. for now he was silent, waiting for the loudest ailment to cease before he began his medical inquiries. "how long have you had the sneezing?" he inquired when she had presumably finished, stoneflower eyes flicking over her face and figure to assess for any sign that there was more to it than met the eye.