With every passing day spent on the tundra of Ilum, Anakin felt increasingly repulsed by the snow.

It was powdery and wet, and if it got into your inner clothes, you’d be damp for hours, which would only make you colder. and it’d get stuck in the grooves of his boots, freeze up, and he’d spend an hour scraping them out of the sole with the blunt end of an ice pick.

He was miserable. Almost as miserable as he would be in a hot, sandy sweatshop on Tatooine.

He tugs the hood of his insulated coat tighter around his face, trying to block out the incoming gust of wind. He wasn’t keen on staying out long, but he stood still long enough to let you catch up.

“Please tell me we aren’t far.” He uttered through his scarf, his arms splayed out awkwardly at his sides while he desperately flexed his hands. “It’s freezing out here.”