"That's it. Sometimes you can hardly see it for the mist."

Most winter mornings it was swallowed up by thick, white fog, the tip of the highest turret just barely peeking out of the fog like the prow of a wrecked ship until the tide finally subsided to reveal it window by window. Robin had visited it once before but something about its hollow, towering shape had set him on edge. He hadn't returned since.

With company, it might feel less desolate. Buoyed by that thought, he clapped his hands together in the way a teacher announcing the day's schedule to the class might. "Right. We'll explore the grounds together, shall we? The weather is perfect for it."

Not that he had expected Warsman to object account of a little chill in the air; he'd probably endured winters colder than anything England could throw at him.