Haunted Wood whistlin' past the graveyard

He didn't speak for a few moments, which was all the girl needed to give up her feeble pretence of alertness and allow her head to slump back onto the snow. For a while, the two were still, and Cass hoped dimly that they boy had left; she was so very tired. But just as she'd begun to sink into sleep, there came movement, something pressing against her, warm and solid. She made a small noise almost like the whistle of wind through trees, something between a whine and a sigh. 

She was greedy, soaking up the boy's warmth, skin prickling almost uncomfortably. Poking her snout at him weakly, perhaps in an effort to warm her frost-singed nose, she sank into the snow finally, closing her eyes to rest for a moment; she'd deal with the boy when she woke. The influx of emotions was disorienting enough after so much numbness, and in sleep, the pounding of her head faded, breaths evened out and strengthened.