A quiet sigh escapes the clergyman, his mind unfortunately elsewhere. Glacius insists the idea is not foolish, but it is, Carlisle convinces himself. After all, Glacius may be made for such a cold, dangerous world, what with his icy armor and bold stature, but how would someone like him survive? Glacius would have to gather resources, food, protect them from the dangers of the tundra. What can Carlisle offer besides companionship?

His father could have survived in such a world. His uncles certainly could have. They would have likely enjoyed the challenge survival can offer were they not beholden to their nephew, the only heir of their proud family and failure of his lineage.

The icy giant's gentle nudge does little to draw Carlisle from his self-deprecation; he does his best to mask his uncertainty as he returns the gesture. "Until tomorrow, then." He slides from Glacius' side, bundling up in the furs closer to the fire so he does not freeze when the blaze goes out. "Goodnight, my friend. Do not stay up too late."