By the time the snowball fight devolves into a free-for-all and the children scamper off, Lorne is pretty well covered in snow, too. Obvious patches of it where snowballs landed cling to his cloak, warmed some by the exertion. His breath comes in quick puffs, fogging up in the cold air, and he's smiling more with his eyes than his mouth. Force of habit. The bemusement about the Shepherd hasn't gone away, either, but Lorne thinks he wouldn't be smiling like that if there were problems to come.

"Not at all. I'm not on a schedule," Lorne replies with a shake of his head, brushing snowflakes off of his clothing. There are definitely small trails of melted snow running down his neck. He should invest in a hat. Several questions are on the tip of his tongue, but he's still a bit uncertain about where the ground lays with this Shepherd. What is or is not appropriate has gone out the proverbial window. He trudges across the few feet of snow between them and holds out a gloved hand. "Lorne Ward. And... you're welcome, I suppose."

Beat. "I'm surprised that you..." Lorne trails off, gestures instead to the disturbed snow all around them to indicate the antics.