He can feel the snow hardening against his fingertips as he is suddenly struggling for another handful. Frak. A bit of fresh powder dislodges from the surface and dusts his wool coat. The bastard is making it more difficult for him to dig himself out.

Mimicking a shiver, he shoves his hands into coat, pretending to warm them. The truth is, he can handle more than this, but he would prefer not to. He digs deep into one pocket, fingertips just brushing his PINpoint. If he can pull at the lining, then maybe he can jostle it free...

His expression is serious. Stone-faced. The riddle is only easier in that it is two lines to puzzle over instead of four, but he's still unsure of the answer. "Is it a question?" he asks. He wishes the answer is "Reynard" because he would not mind the guy dropping dead right about now.