[She does find them. Some look damaged, but she scavenges them anyway. She can't feel half the tiny cuts that stipple her hands from sorting through the debris. Anything that looks like it will burn gets set aside, anything survival-related gets moved to the edge of the little shelter. It's fully dark and she's two-thirds through their cache when her hands start shaking badly enough that she drops one of the chips and it vanishes. There are little freckles of blood across the snow, dark spots making it impossible for her to pick out where the chip fell.]
Goddamnit. [Murphy stuffs her hands under her arms, willing them to be warmer. The shelter helps - but the cold hunkers and snaps around the edges of the fire, squeezing slow claws between Murphy's ribs and making it hard to breathe. She slips her hands out from her blanket poncho long enough to rub sore ears. She's fine. She's one-hundred-percent okay. If the Bat can do it, so can she.]
no subject
Goddamnit. [Murphy stuffs her hands under her arms, willing them to be warmer. The shelter helps - but the cold hunkers and snaps around the edges of the fire, squeezing slow claws between Murphy's ribs and making it hard to breathe. She slips her hands out from her blanket poncho long enough to rub sore ears. She's fine. She's one-hundred-percent okay. If the Bat can do it, so can she.]