rho's hands are cold more often than not. but, in hindsight, she should have known that, the gloves she wears aren't exactly meant for conserving warmth as much as they were for battle, with her fingertips poking out from the tops of the leather.
warming them is a task, especially when on the road, carrying her pack and her staff, hiking through the wilderness and mountains and snow. rho rubs her fingers profusely, but the freezing leather on her skin makes them even colder than before. she also tries wrapping woolen strips around the entirety of both hands, but the stiffness that creeps into them after only a few minutes makes them insufferable and the process is entirely too tedious.
but her favorite method of warming up, and the one used most often, is when ilros takes her hand in his, clasping it firmly but gently in his grip, a wide smile on his face as he does so. the difference in the size of their hands isn't by much, but he's akin to a furnace (or so rho tells him), so it doesn't matter. warmth almost immediately melts her frozen fingers, and she gets a tingly feeling, one that flows through her like a river and causes her smile to match the inquisitor's.
they are smiling and goofy and warm, impervious to the winds whipping around them as they walk, and rho is thankful. thankful that she has someone to collect her chilly fingers and keep them warm, someone to keep her company on the long trek up the frostback mountains, and someone to make her smile infinitely larger at every little thing they do.