Chapter Text
“It’s getting dark,” Dream said, huffing like he had run a marathon in the amount of time that it had taken George to tie together a few sticks.
George grit his teeth, wishing, not for the first time, that he was sensible enough to prepare for all weathers like he had been told. His arms were prickling with goosebumps, the hairs standing on end to try and create some sort of insulation between his skin and the air, but with little affect. To make matters worse, he could already feel that his feet were wet from stumbling in the water earlier, which meant an even tighter timeframe than they already had.
“Yeah,” George said, and it was an achievement that he didn't snap the words, “Did you find-?”
“No. Nothing is around for miles, that I could see.”
Dream’s mask was in the way of his eyes, so George couldn't see what he was thinking, but his voice was tight, the cold air ripping holes in his lungs and causing his wheeze to get worse. George didn't know if Dream was suffering as badly as he himself was, but he was hardly wearing cold weather gear either.
“What direction?” he asked, looking around. Other than the hill Dream had climbed and the tree stump George had found, there was nothing that marked the landscape. Only the fresh, undisturbed expanse of snow that made up their new world. He couldn't even see any caves, or a river, or another tree. Just snow and sky, which according to Dream, went on forever.
“Pick one,” Dream said, seeing again if he could salvage any of the stump. His fingers were almost blue from the cold.
George looked around again for something - anything - out of pure desperation. By the looks of it, they had less than an hour until nightfall.
“South,” he said, and holding the bundle of sticks with both hands, he tumbled through the snow in a mockery of running. Dream ditched the idea of salvaging the stump and went after him, his longer legs making better progress, which still didn't amount to much.
The snow came up to their knees, soaking through their trousers and seeping through to their flesh and chilling their legs to the bone. George was just thankful that it was sunny instead of clouded over or snowing, even if that meant it would be colder later. Getting started when the weather was awful basically guaranteed failure, although, he wasn't exactly holding out the most hope for their current situation either. Dream paused to catch his breath and to let George reach him again, but nothing had changed.
The landscape was still an inhospitable white, hostile without monsters, deadly without weapons, and the snow towards the horizon was glowing yellow from the setting sun.
“Half an hour?” George hazarded a guess.
“Less,” Dream said, “let’s say less.”
“Igloo?”
“Do you have a shovel?”
“Uhm, dirt house?”
“Ground is frozen solid.”
“Cave?”
“Where?”
George heaved a breath. Hopelessness didn't suit Dream at the best of times, but now, all it did was make George wish that they were already dead. His hands were stiff, becoming the same temperature as the landscape at a faster rate than he realised, and his wet trouser legs were freezing to the snow. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting gold and purple flames across the sky, George looked at Dream and wished he had said something sooner.