Wet and cold isn't necessarily unfamiliar. Kirkwall gets that way, and Ostwick wasn't dissimilar. It isn't the weather that bothers him, then, even if the lack of consistent, non-rotting housing every night is exhausting. It's...fucking everything else.

Mobius makes a humming noise, leaned against a wall (or a chunk of wall anyway) with his hands tucked under his arms. Not hogging the fire, but close enough to just be warmed overall. "Peachy keen. I love keeping my ears perpetually sharp for the sounds of sentient clicking fungus people to come alerting the horde. Feels just like home."

Well. The fighting feels like home. Tending to a roving band of directionless fighters, that feels unfortunately like home.

"Ellie says some people have managed to actually make a life out of all this. Would've been nice to be dropped off one of those places."