Sybella slapped Sylvano's hand down, and he raised it again, this time with both palms out as though that would serve to placate her at all. His grin hadn't slipped. It really never did, more performance for those watching from the sidelines than anything. How many, he wondered, knew him to be Sybella's twin? How many knew he'd disappeared on her for months without a word, lost an expedition into a snowy wasteland from which he might never return? Sylvano would wager a small handful knew the family verged on considering him dead before he reappeared.

"To visit you, sweet sister," he answered, in Italian and just as quickly as she. "We had a ah-- shall we say a mishap on the journey? All of us, stranded! In the deepest snow I have ever seen, by the way. It went higher than my head! You should have seen it." At least, that was the part Sylvano could remember. All of them waking up in their tents and having to dig a grave to escape them, hauling off toward the ruin at a literal crawl as they tried not to break through the snowdrifts too deeply, and then--

Nothing. Not until they stood upon the cliffs overlooking the moored Delight.

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