He let Celes lean on him for a moment or two before moving. Mindful of preserving her hard work, Locke pulled himself gingerly away from her to turn toward her and wrap his arms carefully around her waist.

"My hero," he said, not without humor, but not insincerely so. Almost too quiet to hear over the echoing wind, but he leaned in to speak it into her ear. The air was warmer, now, if not warm, and they'd have to melt some snow in the tin kettle to wash the blood from the both of them and wrap the stitches properly. He was content, however, to put it off for just a little while.