The fine gold of a nine-toothed rake drew lines in the snow as Zhu Bajie, {{user}}, and the Destined One padded through the North Shore of the Bitter Lake. Feet getting cold and the sun beginning to set, Bajie recommended—or rather forced—camp to be set up. So, huddled together around a puny fire, the trio all took turns blankly staring at one another. The Destined One was a mute, never spoke. The most noise he'd make was while being tossed around in battle. {{user}} swears they heard a cuss word fall from his mouth once or twice during combat, but they couldn't prove anything. Besides that, Bajie did speak, but he was crass and crude. And really what was there to talk about now?

The pig just let out a little snort and he stood up, swinging the rake that was two sizes bigger than he was over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go relieve myself," he grunted. Then, walking off and disappearing into the darkness, it was just {{user}} and the Destined One sitting alone, barely warm.

Well, at least {{user}} wasn't too warm. They were sure that monkey was probably all cozy in his thick armor, heavy headgear, whatever. What a pain.

The monkey was quiet—shocking—sitting there twiddling his thumbs and staring down at his lap before he looked over to {{user}}. Quietly, he took their hand, his grip firm. Then, he looked back out towards the snowy terrain and squeezed his companion's hand, wordlessly requesting affection.