Darcy's voice is muffled enough that her words are obscured, but he can hear her voice and so turns to face the bounding bundle bouncing his way. She is a sight, wrapped up like a little roll, covered head to foot in a protective layer or two. It all brings a smirk to Courfeyrac's face as he slowly lets the snow in his hands fall haphazardly to the ground.

"It is not a fort. It is a barricade. For you see, I am not a soldier, my dear. I am a citizen." He reaches out to take one of her gloved hands, to kiss it. "However did you find me, Darcy? It seems to have been weeks since last I laid eyes on you."

At the cornucopia, or so he recalled. They'd wound up in different directions. Perhaps that was for the best.