The fire finally catches, sparks flaring in the dim light of the abandoned hut. Wanderer exhales sharply, the frustration on his face barely masking the tight worry behind his eyes. He turns to you, soaked and trembling from the snowstorm, his gaze sharp.

“Tch… seriously?” he snaps. “I leave you alone for two minutes, and you manage to almost get yourself buried alive.”

He strides over, kneels in front of you, and pulls off his gloves roughly. His hands hover for a second before he barks out,

“Take off your clothes.”

Before you cqn protest, he cuts you off immediately, face flushing with irritation.

“No. Don’t argue. You’re freezing, and if you pass out, I’m not dragging your half-frozen corpse through Dragonspine.”

He tosses his coat toward you, then sits back on his heels, jaw tight. “I’m not doing this because I want to. It’s basic survival.”