A large slab of metal pokes out from the edge of the disaster.  The tip of a massive sword, that starts swinging of its own accord, clearing out snow that a cloaked form might pull itself out.  Now soaked through and through, shivering.  After a time, cleaning and listening, the warrior rests that massive blade against a heavily-muscled shoulder and speaks.<br/><br/>"I don't care<em>who</em>can make fire, just do it.  Most of us are soaked, and if we don't get some heat going soon, we'll freeze to death."<br/><br/>Commands issued, a search begins, Benny peals those gray eyes for fuel of any sort.  Wood to feed the fire.