And she wraps him up in fur. Her own body hasn't warmed it at all, but it's still better than exposure to the wind, and presently his own escaping heat has it a bit better than that. "There you are. But of course that will not do all by itself -" She produces a bottle of some wicked-looking, thin liquid, pours a droplet onto the snow, and watches at it becomes a steaming mug of something with a thick head of froth. She gestures at the dwarf, and he hops up, picks up the mug, and offers it to the boy with a bow. "What is your name, dear child?"