Locket hugged her arms around herself as she shivered. 'I [i]really[/i] hate the cold!' she thought vehemently, 'Three days in this frozen wasteland might actually kill me!' She sighed, her breath creating a fog in front of her face. Despite her aversion to the cold, she, almost like Vol, licked her lips hungrily at the thought of souls. She floated over the snow, closer to the front of the procession. Throwing an almost jealous look at Vol's wolverines, a disapproving look overcame her features as she looked at Vol, always the womanizer, always craving curves and...assets. Rolling her eyes at Vol, Locket turned to Hag, "What happens if there's a storm? Are we going to be stuck here?" She eyed Mortimer warily, he had always terrified her and she was sure that he knew it, knew it, enjoyed it, and maybe even exploited it.