"I'm going to kill that witch," Regina sputters, lips tightened and eyes narrowed in rage as the screeching monkey flies off, leaving her with a throbbing arm and shoulder from a nasty fall into the creek bed and its sharp rocks. Regina turns to look at the wound, scowling as she sees rivulets of blood staining her badly torn and soaking wet dress.

It had snowed last night, and the quarter inch of water that she broke through as the monkey released her was ice. The wound may hurt less than it would in summer, but her frigid skin cools further with every gust of wind, and she can feel the ends of her hair and sleeves of her black gown beginning to freeze.

"So you've said," Robin notes, panting as he collects a bloody arrow from the ground that the creature had ripped out of its feathers with its jaw.

She spins around to glare at him. "Thank you for your contribution, Thief," she snarls, "I thought that arrow never missed."

"If you'll recall," he points out, wiping the arrow on some nearby dried leaves and then dropping it back into his quiver, "it didn't."

"If you're referring to the way it grazed a few of its feathers, I'd beg to differ."

He tilts his head, considering her with a penetrating gaze.

She tries very, very hard not to shiver.

"Are you certain its claws didn't touch you?" he asks.

"I'm fine." She shakes out her skirts, though all that seems to do is toss frigid droplets of water against her aching legs.

"M'lady..."

"Your Majesty!" she snaps.

She is too preoccupied with checking that the shield on the castle has held, and with securing the bark she'd needed for a spell that will hopefully, finally show her her sister's past, that she doesn't notice he's come near her until he stands a few mere inches from her.

He unfastens his wool cloak, and has it around her shoulders a moment later.

"It's wrinkled," she huffs, drawing it around her nevertheless, for it is growing colder as the late afternoon wears on, and her body will not let her reject the warmth. "And it smells like forest."

"It's keeping you from freezing," he points out, unfazed, "Or do you relish the chance to die of hypothermia before the witch can get at you?"

"At least that might stop you from following me into the forest like a dog who's grown bored of being kept indoors."

He narrows his eyes at her, as though he's amused. "And what do you suppose that makes you?" he asks, "A barn cat hissing and swishing your tail at me? Or a mule, perhaps."

Regina gasps. "Have you taught your son to speak to royalty in such a way?"

"I think we both know exactly how much you care for such formality. Regina."

"Out of my way, Thief," she demands. She stalks around him, towards the castle. An instant later, her feet seem to come out from under her, and she finds her freezing, exhausted limbs nearly giving out. He catches her just in time, one hand at her elbow, the other at her waist.

She yanks angrily at the ends of the cloak, but they've caught on another sharp rock. Of course. Perfect.

"I hate the forest," she grumbles, pushing his hand off her waist even as she shivers at its warmth.

"No," Robin disagrees, his voice low and quiet, "you don't."

She turns her head to look at him, and suddenly his blue eyes have transfixed hers, and it feels as though she's staring at the sky on a clear day, even though dusk has long begun to take hold of the overcast winter sky.

They are both silent for a moment.

"You hope to learn the witch's secrets, then?" he finally asks, and she finds herself staring at the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and shrugs towards the bark still in her hand.

She swallows slowly herself. "Yes."

"And...what do you hope to find?"

"Her weakness."

He takes a step towards her. "And if she discovers yours?"

Regina laughs, bitterly, her voice rough. "She'd have to travel to another land to find the only person I care about. My weakness was love, and I have lost it."

"I don't believe that's true. And I don't think you do, either. Your son-when you speak of him, that is when you are at your strongest. Don't allow her to take that from you."

She blinks, and stares, and feels her heart pound, all while she tries to think of the most efficient way to cut him before he leaves her completely helpless, to run, but no-running is weak, it proves him right, and he must not be, he cannot be, and she will prove that-

"Regina," he interrupts, and she realizes she's been standing there, silent, for several seconds on end. How much had he seen, and realized, this man who seems to take every barb she throws at him, and yet look at her no differently for it? "Would you please go inside before your hair has actually frozen solid? Normally, you know, I think it'd be quite a stunning addition to your collection of art, but I'm rather certain the Princess would object to your frozen statue being placed in the gallery with your hair looking like that."

"Fine."

She begins to lift the cloak off her shoulders when he shakes his head and tells her, "It's gotten horribly wrinkled on this errand with you. I absolutely refuse to take it back in such a state."

She huffs, but draws it more tightly around her arms, grateful despite herself for its dry warmth, and begins to head towards the castle, being cautious, this time, to search the ground for any other pitfalls before she takes a step. "You're the one who insisted upon coming along."

"But I'd have thought all queens brought a guard dog on a hunt?" he teases.

She scoffs. "If you were a guard dog, I'd be able to tell you when I didn't want you to come."

"Alas. I never was very good at doing what I was told."

She pauses for a moment to face him, exasperated, gently mocking, "Your weakness, I suppose."

"Indeed." He follows her past the last trees and onto the fields still lightly dusted with yesterday's snow. "Do you think you'll be able to find another black dress, now that that one's ruined?" he asks with mock curiosity.

"Oh, hush, Thief."

"I'd hate to see you have to venture into blue, or red."

"Wouldn't you just."

They're met, a few feet into the protection spell's globe, by a somewhat frantic Snow White, a hand resting on her swelling belly and a look of consternation painted across every pale feature. "What happened?" she demands, looking between them, then offering up a blanket she'd clearly meant for Regina to Robin, who merely shakes his head. She covers the skin bared above her gown's neckline with the cloak, glaring at the thought of a common thief insisting he might know something about her heart.

Robin bites his lip, watching, slightly bemused, as Snow begins to tug Regina along with her. She can picture him with that infuriating grin as she unsuccessfully attempts to convince Snow that it is not necessary for someone else to draw her a warm bath (or offer advice or protection she'd never asked for), when she can manage perfectly well on her own.

It's not, she thinks mulishly, as though she really needed the cloak, anyway.