The wind outside was steadily picking up, causing the stick-flap to smack hard against the rocky entryway in infrequent intervals. Each time it sent a small breeze of cool wet air into the room. Rarity couldn't help noticing the 'goosey bumps' Atchmon would get in the presence of cold. The dark hair along his arm stood on end, but he kept on working, never acknowledging what was going on around him.