“It’s just a small shelter, so you can dig your way out if you gotta,” she says, reassuringly, and then less reassuringly as the thought occurs to her: “Unless snow falls on you in an avalanche. Then you’re fucked. Even then, though, there’s things you could try. You kinda run sideways and then swim with it, or grab a tree to stay anchored. It hasn’t happened to me but my mum got caught in one once.”

Which had been heard as a fairly infamous story around the campfire, awed and goggle-eyed and admiring.

Watching Xio rummaging around and withdrawing that scarf, and then realising what she’s about to do, Astrid activates her best impression of woeful puppy-dog eyes. Could she enjoy some of that also. She doesn’t have any light scarves; all of hers are big warm knitted things.