“Let them,” Foil said. “This doesn’t hurt anything, and it could be useful. If we have names for places we’re going, directions, reference points could be really useful. Not everyone’s good at holding As, Bs, Cs, and 1-2-3s in their heads.”

The labels appeared as Rain gave Kenzie suggestions. Entry Hill, Stable Hill. The Workshop Cliff. Logger Hill. Mount Cross. Mount Misery.

“Mount Cross?” I asked.

“Fallen were going to set something up there,” Rain said, indicating a mountain in the distance. “Blew over, they got bored, didn’t want to restart it.”

“Mount Misery?” Imp asked.

“There’s a little house, out that way. Sometimes people who weren’t doing so well would get stowed there. I… got an offer to live out there. Away from the thick of the Fallen nonsense. But it would’ve meant I had to betray my team. I think a lot about what would have happened if I said yes, and I inevitably decide I would have been pretty miserable. So… the mountain near there that they cut a chunk out of for the stone? Mount Misery.”

“Doesn’t seem like a very good offer,” Imp said. “Hermit hut, but you gotta lose your friends.”

“Wasn’t the only part of the deal,” Tattletale said, leaning forward to warm her hands by the fire.

“Thank you for deciding the way you did,” Sveta said, just over my shoulder.

Rain nodded.

Gibbet balanced the head of her mini-snowman atop the body, which seemed late to have taken her a while to do. It wasn’t until I saw her carefully put a scarf around its head and cinch it tighter that I saw she’d tied the scarf into a general noose shape. She placed her hand on top of her little snowman, and pushed it into the ground. All around her and us, life-size snowmen rose up from the snow, all with oversized scarves.

She flicked the little snowman’s head off. The others remained as they were. I couldn’t see her expression, because her entire face and head was covered by black cloth, with her looking out the eye-holes, a short noose hanging from her neck. I felt like she was maybe dissatisfied or nervous.

“I’m going to go find my boyfriend and bum a smoke,” Gibbet said.

“Don’t suppose you could rearrange those snowmen? Block off the wind?” Imp asked. “Moi derriere is tres froide.”

The Heartbroken groaned. Damsel seemed pleased though, smiling.

“Culture, y’know,” Imp said, as an aside to Damsel. “Can’t wear a slinky black bodysuit and not speak some sultry French.”

The Heartbroken spoke up, talking over in their efforts to jump in with their retorts and criticisms. I caught ‘as a bulldog in fishnets’ from Roman, mostly because he was the loudest.

Imp ignored them, calling out to Gibbet, who was walking away. “Yo! You didn’t answer me. Barrier? For the kids, even?”