The cold never got to him. Whatever harsh and frozen landscape he was exploring, he never looked for any warmth. All the power was inside. He was the warmth.
He was aware of how gifted he was... and cursed. There was no need for the peculiar Red Eskimo to seek warmth, but everyone else would risk their life for such thing. Not to mention that in these harsh lands, some entities of the cold would expect way more than just hug him...
He could sense them. Shuffles in the snow. Subtle exhausted snorts. A desperate desire for heat.
Whatever will happen in these moments, he must keep being The Warmth of this world... or The Warmth will be lost for ever.