It’s the afternoon of the next day.

Fresh hums to herself as she walks in a circle around the snowman that she had built. It’s an odd looking thing, being a little lumpy in all sorts of different places. Its gangly arms are made from two sticks and since she didn’t have anything better for eyes, she used two rocks from the ground and then another smaller stub of a stick with a leaf on it for a nose.

Reaching the front side of it again, she nods, satisfied and rubs her own arms to warm them up, running her fingers over the fabric of the single jacket that Jubilee had made.

“What a monstrosity,” sighs Jubilee, coming back from their grocery run. Fresh had opted to wait here together with Basil. Shamrock is dungeoning.

Fresh frowns. “I worked super hard on it!” she protests. “Right, Basil?” she asks.

Basil shivers, holding herself. “I- it’s true,” stutters the priestess. Fresh gasps, quickly taking off the jacket that the two of them had been swapping back and forth between themselves. “I’m sorry, Basil!” she apologizes. She had it for longer than five minutes now. “I was completely lost in my work.”

“’Work’,” sighs Jubilee, shaking their head.

Basil shakes her head but allows Fresh to put the jacket over her, pulling it tight around herself and closing it right away. “It’s still warm,” she sighs in relief, rubbing her arms again.

Fresh holds her arms in front of herself, feeling her cold, snow-touched fingers grasping her own skin. “Did you get everything, Jubilee?” she asks. Jubilee shrugs, lifting the straps of the bag up to show that it’s full. It's unusual for Jubilee to wear a backpack. Fresh has always assumed that it hurts their scars. Maybe Basil's cream has been helping?

“Yeah. We’re set,” they say.

Basil sighs. “Grim times.”

“Life is hard, buttercup,” says Jubilee, walking homeward. “Toughen up,” they say.

Basil frowns, sighing and grabbing them before they can escape. “You’re ice-cold!” argues the priestess, but Jubilee just waves her off. “What if you get sick?”

“Fuck off, Basil,” sighs Jubilee. “I’m fine. It’s just a little chill,” says Jubilee, shaking their head. But as they walk, Fresh can see that Jubilee’s hands still haven’t let go of the straps of the bag, as if they were trying to find a way of keeping them warm, without giving up the appearance of toughness by warming them against their own body.

“L-let’s go home, B-Basil,” stutters Fresh, walking after Jubilee. The priestess tags after her and they leave, leaving the snowman behind to live his own life, whatever existence may find him after their departure.

Given that their savings are about a little bit less than what they needed to buy a full house, they’ve decided to earn the last of the money they need by tearing through the dungeon and in order to keep costs down, their daily bread has been reduced to what is, quite literally, daily bread.

Some nuts, some dry bread, some tubers. No seasonings, no fruits, no spreads and no jams and no hot-food from the overpriced street vendors and restaurants or from the bar of the adventurers’ guild. No. Now they have to be frugal. No juices, no milk, no tea and no coughee. Nothing but water from the free fountains.

“Maybe we really should try eating the spriggans too,” sighs Basil, biting into her slice of bread for the day. She has long since stopped fighting against Fresh, who, halfway home, had gotten too cold and stuck her hands under the jacket and onto Basil’s stomach to warm her icy fingers. She’s still stuck there.

“You can try it,” says Jubilee. “But you may as well try to eat a fucking tree.”

“What about the seeds?” asks Fresh. “They’re supposed to be really nutritious!”

“We’re not eating those. We need them to craft items with,” says Jubilee. “If you want to eat something, go eat a harpy.”

“We’re not eating a harpy!” protests Fresh. “That’s weird. They’re like… almost people’ish.”

Jubilee places their hands on their hips, staring at her. “Since when are you allowed to decide what’s weird and what isn’t?” they ask, rolling their eyes. “Anyways. It was a joke. We’re not eating anything from a dungeon.”

“I bet a lot of the crab-meat we bought in the east before was from the dungeon there,” considers Basil. “And the coconuts.”

Fresh lifts a hand. “I ate a mush-mush once.”

“Yeah,” says Jubilee. “And look how the two of you turned out. No thanks,” they sigh, sitting down and pulling over some spriggans’ bark towards themselves, to make more fiber out of, for a second jacket.

“Shamrock eats stuff in the dungeon all the time,” notes Fresh.

Jubilee twists the bark in their hands, trying to loosen it up a little. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Fresh narrows her eyes. She’s stolen and then created enough warmth from and with Basil now. She bets Jubilee is still cold, so she pulls herself free and flops onto the bed, holding herself down off of its side and presses her palms against Jubilee’s cold ears.

“You’re touching me,” states Jubilee, sounding annoyed.

Fresh nods once. “Touch,” is all that she says as she touches Jubilee.

Basil sits down on the floor of their unfurnished room as well with her back to them and then lays down, putting her head on Jubilee’s lap. “Touch.”

“You know…” says Jubilee, looking down at Basil who has lifted her hand and is holding it against their face.

“What?” asks the priestess.

Jubilee seems to consider their options for a moment and then just shakes their head, continuing their work as Fresh continues to touch their cold ears, as Basil keeps lifting her hands up to touch their cold cheeks, despite their annoyed twitches.

The door opens, Shamrock comes back inside, covered in frost. The man dusts himself off.

“Hi, Shamrock!” says Fresh, looking up from the bed. “We’re touching Jubilee!” she explains. “Wanna join us?”

“You better fucking not!” barks Jubilee at him, turning their head his way and turning the four hands glued to their face with them. “You look like an ice-golem.”

“It’s cold,” is all that Shamrock says, some crystallized flakes falling off of his chest as his breastplate heaves from his breathing. Fresh has realized now that the man literally inflates himself inside of the armor as he draws air into himself, that’s what causes the strong movements of his chest when he breathes. Though, thinking about it, isn’t that how all breathing works?

“Are you managing?” asks Basil. Shamrock nods, setting down his bag. They had bought him a sword, but it broke after a few hours in the dungeon and Jubilee had refused to buy him a new one, telling him to just use his hands. Fresh hasn’t found any material to make one with herself yet.

So far, Shamrock has been pretty resilient against the weather. Slimes are generally sturdy and can handle extreme temperatures. Though, only to an extent. The desert he could do well in because of his ample access to water and ready-made snacks and drinks. So the liquid of his body that got evaporated could be restored pretty easily. The extreme cold of the winter is a little trickier however. He’s resistant to freezing to an extent, since he produces warmth in his body, but that point is slowly being reached, especially with the metal armor holding the cold inside of itself.

Fresh watches as the man sits down and a large mass of goo starts leaking out of the icy metal, draining through a slit in the knee. “That looks fucking gross,” sighs Jubilee, watching Shamrock leave his armor. The man makes his way over, bending down and pressing a slimy finger against Jubilee’s head.

“Touch,” says Fresh, squeezing Jubilee’s ears.

Basil nods in agreement, squishing Jubilee’s cheeks with her hands. “Touch.”

Shamrock’s slimy finger presses itself against the top of their head. “Touch,” is all that the man says.

“FUCK OFF!” barks Jubilee at the three of them swiping their arms around themselves to remove all of their poking and prodding and touching fingers and hands. “I’m trying to work here,” they say in annoyance. “Don’t you fucking dare!” snaps Jubilee, turning around to look at Fresh who was getting ready to bite their long ear.

Basil lifts herself up and takes her opportunity instead, getting their other ear as she sits up.

“I want to die,” says Jubilee as Basil sits there, gnawing on their ear. Now that they’re trapped, Fresh strikes and gets the other one. “I will literally murder both of you,” they say, looking up at Shamrock. “That goes for you too.”

“I already ate,” says the man, glibbering down into a puddle of goo.

Well, even if they do have to ration their food and their money right now, it’s not all bad. In fact…

Fresh gasps, pulling Jubilee’s slightly-nibbled ear out of her mouth as she realizes something. Flopping down head-first, her legs still on the bed, she worms around beneath it and then scoots around, popping her head out the other way.

“I don’t want to know,” says Jubilee, trying and failing to get up and walk away. Something is clutching their leg. They look down, staring at Fresh’s hand that is clasped around it. “What?”

Fresh holds out her hand, offering them the little gift she had wrapped the other day. “I made this for you, Jubilee!” They turn their head, looking at her with suspicion in their eyes. “It’s a present!”

“No thanks,” says Jubilee, trying to walk away. “Ow!” Jubilee looks back down, staring at Fresh who has sunk her teeth into their leg. She lifts her hand up higher, extending the box out to them. “Always the fucking biting with you people. It’s like living with animals.” They take the box. “Fine,” they sigh.

Fresh nods in approval, scooting out the other two little boxes for Shamrock and Basil.

“Thank you,” says Basil, taking hers.

Shamrock takes his, nodding to her once. Giddily, Fresh watches as they pull open the little ribbons. Laying on her stomach now fully beneath the bed, she tries to lift her legs and swing her feet, but the bed-frame above her blocks her from doing so.

“…A string?” asks Jubilee, staring at the braided, red cord that they’re letting dangle from their fingers. There’s a small ornament attached to it, a little glass chicken.

“It’s a friendship-bracelet!” beams Fresh. She sticks out her arm, showing them hers. “Now we all have matching ones!” she exclaims.

“That’s very cute,” says Basil, putting hers on above her golden bangle. “Thank you.”

Shamrock stares at the string and then sticks it inside of his arm, letting it float around there. “Thanks.”

“Just don’t wear it when you’re hungry, Shamrock, okay?” she asks. The man nods.

Jubilee narrows their eyes. “Is this spriggan bark?” they ask suspiciously, staring at the bracelet from up close. “You’re wasting our crafting materials for this?” they ask, jangling the bracelet and looking down at Fresh who is still lurking beneath the bed, her hand still on their leg.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment.

“Don’t,” warns Jubilee sternly, reading her face.

It’s quiet.

“I swear. I will literally kill YOOOIAGH!” Fresh retreats into the darkness beneath the bed, tugging on Jubilee’s leg. They fall down to the floor and she drags them into her den, their fingers grasping for the floorboards are unable to stop her from taking them into the space beneath the bed.

Basil and Shamrock look at each other and shrug, lowering themselves down and crawl beneath the bed too.

Some might say that it’s weird or odd, but really, it just is what it is. To escape the winter’s bite that has hounded them for most of the day, the four creatures find themselves nested in a dark, warm burrow where they spend the rest of the afternoon, taking a very long, if not somewhat cramped nap.