Vamyr suffered in silence during the ride, feeling the cold creeping through his fingers and toes, slowly numbing. It would have been unfair to comment though, as surely everyone was fairing similarly. His body wasn't used to the constant chill, his homeland was far to the south, honestly not to far from the desert wastes below Mordor. In reality, it was dangerous. His reactions were slower, and Vamyr grimaced when he flexed his fingers. Their numbness would only make him clumsier in a fight.
The sudden transition to green and emerald forest discomfited all of them but Ofnir and Aelin, but their lack of concern assuaged his own doubts. Vamyr dismounted last, stripping the saddle and gear off of his horse and setting him free to graze. After a moment of indecision and observing his companions, he shrugged and headed towards a more secluded section of the small oasis. Eventually, he found an outlet towards the edge of the lake where he stripped down to his linens and waded into the warm water. His sword lay within just a pace on the bank in easy reach.
It was a bit reckless to make himself so vulnerable- but between Ofnir's ease and the months of traveling he had undergone, Vamyr found himself caring little. Here, where it began to run towards the snowy forest, the water was no longer steaming, but still plenty warm. The soldier set about scrubbing the dirt accumulated from his travels. It took a few minutes, but after one last dunking, he settled down in the water to relax near the bank with his eyes closed, letting the chill in his body thaw out. Surely if they needed him, they would call.