Half-starved in a blizzard shouldn't be appealing, but he paints a compelling picture. A... well, an intimate picture, in every sense of the word, and maybe it should feel awkward but it doesn't. She feels-- well, treasured; not her, but a her that was and will be. And sitting here with the steady beat of his heart under her palm, it's close enough.

"No deer?" she asks, a little bit teasing, trying to imagine it; their breath clouding the air, the sky that brilliant, cloudless blue that only comes with the truest cold days. The delight of being a little too cold, so you have to huddle together under a blanket-- better, fundamentally, than being warm would be on its own.