The wind was whipping up now, hard enough that the tressym was sinking his claws into the bodyglove, his body pressed against Gadriel's neck. He held out a waterproofed box--he had promised her one, after all. Inside each item was in a bag, except for the nightshade, which he had put in a glass jar, just to be safe.

"The storm cannot harm me." As much as it creeped him out. "It is Elion I worry for." And he's very unused to worrying about anyone other than himself.