It's cold. It's really, really cold, and if you think Finch might've gotten used to that (or the sunburn, how does anywhere have this much sun in winter?) this late into their journey, you're sorely mistaken.
Hands wrapped in mittens in bundled in sleeves shoved in pockets, a cheerful woolen hat pulled down over his ears, he glances between the crowd with a smile that's about as steady in place as a hut before a hurricane. It's really cold. And these people are — not people at all, if the mages are to be believed. It's all a little more than he properly signed up for.
"This bit's not on any maps," Through chattering teeth. At least not any he's seen, which until several days ago was somewhere between none and zero. "Couldn't tell you what's here."
"Listen, you don't have to come with us," A glance to Beleth; he's not entirely sure about that, however emboldened by the freezing cold, "But what's going to be worse than freezing to death and being eaten by bears?"
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Hands wrapped in mittens in bundled in sleeves shoved in pockets, a cheerful woolen hat pulled down over his ears, he glances between the crowd with a smile that's about as steady in place as a hut before a hurricane. It's really cold. And these people are — not people at all, if the mages are to be believed. It's all a little more than he properly signed up for.
"This bit's not on any maps," Through chattering teeth. At least not any he's seen, which until several days ago was somewhere between none and zero. "Couldn't tell you what's here."
"Listen, you don't have to come with us," A glance to Beleth; he's not entirely sure about that, however emboldened by the freezing cold, "But what's going to be worse than freezing to death and being eaten by bears?"