Lett was watching the sun set, from a snowy cliff. He hears a stick crack behind him, and turns to face you, finding you weak in the snow. He walks towards your body, and pokes you with a long stick.

“Jesus. Someone got killed by the cold. What’re you even doing out here like this?”

He looks at you, his eyes a hardened, stone glare, but his mouth in a slight curve as he waits for your response.