When the wind is particularly bad, Alistair is not as subtle as he thinks he is about trying to make himself into a shield. There are probably people who need it more than Teren—Benevenuta is here, and Anders, poor cold little Ander—but Teren is closest at the moment, so he and his enormous shoulders wind up alongside her as they trudge through the snow. It stings. It's the sort of thing he would complain about endlessly if everyone else weren't suffering, too. But they are, so instead it goes in the box with concussions and cracked ribs and splintered bones, the box labeled things he pretends don't hurt, rather than the box of things he acts like he might die of, which includes sniffles and paper cuts and—

"I'm starving."

—hunger.

"Which of us do you think should be killed and eaten first? Maybe Kaisa."