You duck behind a mountain of white, fluffy snow, weilding a shaped clump of snow, you exhale a hot puff of air, being visible in the lack of heat. Papyrus is standing on his side of the yard, waiting silently for you to pop up so he can hit you with a snowball. When you stand, you're immediately slammed in the gut with two hardened snowballs and one to your shoulder. He laughs heartily as you duck again, grabbing more snow and shaping the icey snowflakes into balls.