"Well, I am cold," Horst answers him, shrugging. "It won't kill me." And it won't, at that; Horst can feel heat and cold, can even register them -- generally -- as pleasant or unpleasant, but they won't cause him much harm until they become extreme, and rarely the kind of harm that he can't heal from. Such are the perks of being undead.

"Come on up to the roof," Horst tells him again, more clearly this time. "It's a good view out onto the neighborhood." He holds up a heavy cotton-stuffed comforter from one of the guest beds, and wraps it around his brother's shoulders for extra warmth as he steers him outside and up onto the stairs that lead up to the widow's walk. It's best, he's learned, to get moving on things before Johannes can notice anything undignified might be going on, and definitely never to mention anything undignified aloud.

"I saw something moving out there."