"Carrots?" He wrinkles up his nose as some of the snow comes back on his jacket, making a tinny sound. It's so cool< like rain solidified into projectiles or left to free-float like one man through space. Not like he's ever felt rain either, he's sure that will be for another day. "I think there were some back in the Inn." And that's another thing that's weird: fresh fucking food. He's trying to just tackle these things one at a time.

He studies their sad little man with a hand to his chin. "What else does he need, you think?