Donatello is not the only one who doesn't appreciate the cold. The figure trudging through the snow skirting the edge of town square obviously isn't enjoying himself; the snow nearly reaches mid-thigh on the short teenager, and if that wasn't awkward enough to navigate, the half-dozen layers of sweaters that make his otherwise slight form puffy aren't doing him any favors. The beanie he's wearing is almost comically useless over his wild head of hair, yet he feels the need to wear it anyway, as well as keep his arms folded and hands tucked in the sides of his coat.

Dustin fucking hates winter. He would hibernate through it if he didn't care about having access to hot water and clean clothes, or eating. Annoying inconveniences. But at least they force him out of his workshop every few days, allowing him to keep tabs on changes to Temba and the people in it. Spot the occasional human-sized turtle wearing a purple bandana.

Dustin stops and stares. Actual giant turtle, odd branching Earth timeline, or alien fluke of convergent evolution? All possible and all equally intriguing. Also, potentially fatal? Regardless of if this guy actually follows the turtle model and is cold-blooded, he's definitely not dressed for the weather, and as much as Dustin doesn't want to engage with anyone ever for any reason, he's not going to leave someone to die of exposure.

With a reluctant, dramatic huff, Dustin shuffles his way towards the fountain. "Hey you," he calls. "How long have you been out here?"