Ah, the helping. He'd done that to the best of his ability - someone has the keg, it moves things safely over the ice - until Darktown laid him out flat in a way he hadn't liked. Besides, Yngvi isn't a good padded dwarf. No meat on his bones.

A hinge groans in an echo of the pipes that had burst at the start of all this as he turns to peek at Rey from behind the fur shrouding his face. Too cold to shave too so the stubble is a beard by now, adding to the whole Avvar dwarf aesthetic he's got going for him.

"Rey! Brilliant, just in time to lend a hand - I need some grease or oil, or greasy, oily salve. All the traps and hinges are struggling."