While she does that, Crichton grabs the bucket and goes out to scoop up some fresh snow. It's falling harder now, covering their footprints in the process. That part is good, but he can't help worrying over how they are going to get away from here. If the snow gets too deep, he might have to carry Percy through it. One problem at a time. The kid has to make it through the night, first.

Crichton comes back inside and stacks up some twigs and straw under the bucket. He sets his pulse pistol to low and shoots a weak plasma ball into the kindling. It ignites instantly, thankfully, without much smoke.

"Looks good. Here. Let's get Percy settled." Carefully, he scoops the boy up and deposits him gently on his makeshift straw bed. "You should lay down too, Cassandra. Get some sleep, I'll keep watch. I'll take care of everything."

The water is boiling now, so he collects the bucket and kicks dirt over the remains of their fire. He'll carry the water over next to Percy, then strip off his shirt and undershirt. He'll use the latter as a cloth, dunking it in the hot water and setting to work cleaning away the blood from Percy, head to toe.

"It's going to be okay. You're both fighters. I can tell."