... at least, Frisk knows where to get food. Meat for wolves. Raw, if nothing else, though Frisk wonders if they could roast it. They seem awfully firey this October.

... No, nevermind, they shouldn't do that. They're still at least half-blind; they can see shapes and nothing else. Still no good for judging meat quality. They're not even that good of a cook.

"I'm gonna go grab something for you," they huff, their tone underlain with simmering heat. "Follow me if you want. Or don't. I'll come back if you don't want to."