The door stayed open behind them, (closing it now would leave them in total darkness, after all,) so the wind blew stray clouds of snow in with them. He led her forward a little too quickly and they slipped slightly on the last step before regaining their balance. His grip on her hand was tight.

"Sorry," Locke muttered once they were on solid ground again, brushing snow from her shoulders as he did. He no longer had to raise his voice to be heard, which was good, because already it was hoarse and shaky from cold. It was noticeably warmer inside, by virtue of being out of the wind and the wet, but it was still on the wrong end of freezing. The mines themselves looked just like he remembered them, if messier. There was abandoned equipment strewn about, and with it a small cache of firewood next to a dented and dirty stove. A wide pipe ran out from the top to vent the smoke out and away from the miners as they gathered around for a break or a warm drink.

"We oughta be able to find plenty more where that came from," he said, looking away from the fuel and frowning over at her as she shivered in silence. "Why don't you get that started while I go looking."