"If they've got any food here, you mean." Frisk picks up the proffered square of chocolate and nibbles at it, trying to make it last. They haven't eaten since yesterday, and now that the adrenaline has died down they're starting to realize they're actually quite hungry, if the growling in their stomach is any indication. It's not the healthiest meal, but it's something, and that's what matters.

"If this place is anything like ours, they might be having a shortage too." Which is kind of a downer, because pie really sounds good about now. The whiff of cinnamon, the warmth of butterscotch melting on their tongue - the kind of comfort of Home they miss so, so much.

They picture Toriel, hovering anxiously over them, her smile warm and relaxed despite everything. It's surprisingly calming.