The cold moved in to meet the warmth of her blood, in and out, washing over her. It was the breath of winter, and while she was used to snow the fact that she was sopping wet wasn't helping. That frigid air licked at her face and crept under her soaked clothes, spreading across her skin like the lacy tide on a freezing beach. Lips tinged purple, chattering teeth - she put the phone down once Richie (it was Richie, right?) said he was coming, and she attempted to scoot into a doorway someplace so she wasn't standing right in the snow.
Right when Beverly swore icicles were forming in her wet hair, she saw him. "Richie," she choked out a sob and threw herself at him, the strength in thin arms actually somewhat impressive when she clung to him in a hug that was frantic and desperate. The last time she saw him, his chest had cracked open like a ceramic vase into the quarry water, sobs filling it to the brim and she didn't know what to do besides comfort him because what could she say after all that? Nothing would make it better. Nothing would change that they had to pry his fingers off Eddie's dead body and drag him out of the caverns, his heels literally digging into the dirt.