Ginta looked at the pug, peering through the round eye holes of his mask with a weary squint before he remembered it, and pushed the mask off. Underneath, his cloth mask was clinging and drenched, quickly growing icy when the wind hit it. He'd forgotten that bit of unpleasantness that went with a concealed identity.

"You okay to stand?" he asked, and got a dismissive eyroll from the pug.

"Better than you."

Ginta set him down, quavering unsteadily when he straightened. His whole body was chilling now, as sweat evaporated and the temperature continued to fall. "It's May," he complained. "Now I remember why I was glad when I stopped taking so many missions up here."

A scroll from his pouch contained the elements he needed for a fire, which, given the dampness of the fuel around here, was going to be a necessity. He unsealed it with a burst of chakra, pushed stones into a rough ring, stacked a pyramid of kindling under a heavier log, and cast a fire jutsu. It took a little sustained chakra to get the flames to catch, but they did at last. Then he started to crouch, thought better of it when his knee threatened to buckle, and sat down flat on the cold ground.

Kakashi was busily putting up a small tent, produced from a scroll of his own. Ginta could feel Pakkun's eyes on him, but the little dog was evidently too tired to say much. He did obey Kakashi's last instruction, though, sidling over to press the warmth of his body along Ginta's right shin. Ginta winced at the touch, took a breath, and let it go.

Pakkun moved anyway, giving Ginta an understanding look, and crawled into Ginta's lap, avoiding the injured leg with obvious care.

They needed warm food, dry beds, a long rest. Ginta needed ice for his leg, not heat — he could feel it swelling against the straps of his shin guards and tabi boots — but the very thought of gathering a few handfuls of snow to pack around it just made him colder.

The scent on the wind promised the sleet would be here soon.

He thumbed open a second, smaller scroll, and carefully caught the small cook set that tumbled out. Setting the pot over the flames, he emptied his canteen into it, then took out a small cherry bark-covered canister and a little bamboo whisk, and when the water was almost boiling, made three frothy bowls of bright green powder tea.

He used the first sip of his to wash down a pair of anti-inflammatory tablets, and tried not to think about the mind-eating throb in his leg. Instead he pulled out a trio of ration bars. "I've got blueberry crisp, peach and mango, and coconut with pineapple," he told his companions. "Who wants what?"