Irene's hands were clasping the reins, and she seemed to be sitting as usual, if it weren't for the precarious angle in which her saddle had been strapped onto Sammy.
If someone could see her, they would see a glazed-over expression, and her eyes, once green, were glowing a faint purple. She was still sleepwalking, it seemed. There was no other way to explain her actions or expression at that moment.
Not only that, but she was unbelievably cold as winds swept through, and she was inside the snowstorm she had been preparing to avoid. However, there was no sign that she even felt the cold at that point.
Even when her hood was covering most of her face and her face covering had gone skewed, she didn't even close her eyes or move out of the way. Her hands never lifted once to adjust the hood and get it out of her line of sight.
