[ Blue eyes flicker up in time to see Hiccup touching Stoick's old fur cloak, his heart aching for him in a different way to the one it already is. Jack hops out of the nest to stand at its edge next to Hiccup, hands clasped around his staff as he surveys the dead old thing with mournful fondness. ]

This is a different kind of cold. It got like this on its own, disused and neglected. [ His staff sends a small sliver of fern-frost over a corner of a rotted blanket in a gentle ice-dance. ] There's no life to it.

[ But he loves it, like an old pet that he would love to see well again yet holds no hope out for. In any case, there's Dave to think about and it wouldn't be right to shack up together exactly as they used to, not to mention the migrating herd doesn't want to stick around here anymore.

Catching sight of something, he crouches down to ferret it out and rises holding an old wooden bowl. Jack's laugh barks out as he realizes what it was used for, leaning his head on his husband's shoulder as he shows him. ]

Still smells like flowers.