Given that the outdoor springs seem to have attracted a headless ghost, Wrathion is not especially bothered to be cut off from them by a blizzard. Ghosts, he supposes, can potentially come indoors if they choose -- but he's hoping this one prefers the more natural outdoor environment. A few minutes of peace and privacy would be welcome.

The snow renders the outside pure white, and even standing right by the large glass window he cannot make out much. The view is likely more impressive when it isn't entirely white, when you can make out trees and mountains and the structure of their surroundings. Staring blankly at white snow, however, is proving to be good for letting his mind drain out the rush of thoughts all competing for attention.

The soft sound of movement tells Wrathion his privacy isn't going to last.

Wrathion turns from the glass, arms folded over his still fastened robe, and studies Eleven. He thought he'd seen him again. Strange, that he's familiar and yet subtly different too. Was he the same, after he left then returned? His absence hadn't been as long, here, yet time had passed.

An interesting thought.

He blinks, once, then moves away from the window back towards the water.

"Don't mind me," he offers, moving to quickly begin tying his hair up out of the way. "I won't be in your way."