Sans was sitting by his 'sentry station', as he almost always was these days. The skeleton was resting his head in his hands, staring into space. The wind blew, making a flurry of snowflakes whirl past him, swaying the trees. He swore he could feel the cold in his skull

How long had he been sitting there? 10 minutes? 1 hour? A day? It was hard to tell. Just as Sans was about to drift off again, he was unceremoniously startled awake by the sound of a branch snapping somewhere nearby