Not a word- as it isn't as though Taas would hear him, but a hand clasped upon his shoulder is offered as warning before Zevran drapes himself, frigid and flushed from a few turns in the snow and around the fire, into Taas' lap. His hair's a wild mess, his eyes bright, and he takes great care to have Taas' eyes on his face before he speaks. "A fine evening, is it not?"