"Very well." If Mithrun says he has it, he has it. The man is more than capable, Byleth knows. Stubborn, too. Pressing the matter won't get him anywhere. So he flaps his wings a few times to get clear of the snow and haul himself back up the tree.

Finding a decent crook to rest in, he waits for the other man to follow. His tail remains curled around a branch for stability, enough so he can tuck his feet under him and warm those damned cold toes.