Red bleedin' templars. Suffice to say, he made it back in one piece and the templars didn't, but he's scooping snow up in his hands and pressing it against his face to cool his skin and wash away the flecks of blood and lingering sweat. There's a small gash on his cheek that stings for a moment with the ice held against it, before it eases just slightly. It'll have to be good enough, and he's washing the back of his neck and letting snow slide down his back as he does away with his armour. He'll go out again, likely, do some hunting (of game or more templars he's not decided) but first he wants to check out a nick on his arm. Not deep, but bleeding.

So there he is, shirtless in the snow, bandaging his own upper arm in what he thinks is good enough for him, but if he saw on someone else he's probably make an unimpressed sound at. One handed wound wrapping is never going to go well.

And it's now, of course, that he spots her. Not when he is in his armour, looking passably useful, but now, and it seems appropriate enough. She'd probably prefer it if it left him off-kilter; she seems like the sort. Unfortunately, he doesn't care all that much.

"Councillor," he starts, with a respectful nod. "How's the Emprise treatin' you today?"