Et cetera, [ agreeably, ] Orlesians, and grows into a lovely woman with soft hands and a respectable understanding of the socially appropriate height of a neckline. Understanding enough to allow her to sidle right up to the edge of propriety, you know.

[ He makes an illustrative gesture on Byerly’s chest, where a titillating neckline would fall. ]

But along with all of this, she has lost touch with her people. And that is only the prologue. The story truly begins in the middle of winter—you could guess the title—when she discovers massive, rugged man, wounded and unconscious, bleeding scarlet into the snow—but still breathing. Still handsome. I assume if he were not handsome they would have left him there to die.