Athos unslung his shield and backpack. Picking up a cloak, he shrugged it on, trying not to gag at the strength of the smell of curdled milk. Considering the relative sizes of himself and the ogre, the cloak acted more like a poncho than anything. He picked up his backpack and shield. Looking at the ogre, he spoke in his gravelly tone:

"Is the cold the only thing we need concern ourselves with, or does something live in the wastes?"