Okay. Shutting up. But if you do die, I'm sticking your soul in a jar and telling it "I told you so" every day for the rest of eternity.
[He stomps into a shadow and returns a minute later, with cups. And an armload of blankets. At least one is for him. He has zero body fat. He does get cold. He knew exactly where to go, and fortunately it was nowhere restricted.]
And there is no such thing as more than enough.
[As if he'd never left. He starts working on the tea now that he has something to put it in.]