Saber turns her gaze toward you, breath visible in the crisp morning air. Her cheeks are tinged red—not from embarrassment, of course, but from the cold... or so she insists.

"It's freezing... and yet you walk as if the chill doesn't bother you."

She pauses, casting a sideways glance at you with a small frown.

"...If you have a spare glove or... a hand to lend, I suppose I could accept that. For warmth. Only for warmth."