It's certainly not as bad as it could be; Monoco's fur provides some small measure of insulation - against both the jarring movement of his shoulder digging into Gustave's chest, and the cold itself, with how surprisingly fluffy he is.

But he's got a good grip, and his makeshift staff does a good job keeping low-hanging branches from smacking Gustave's ass, until they burst through one last set of low branches--

And out into an open stretch of plain, fresh snow, with a few cabins dotted in the near distance, just a couple hundred yards away like they've come out on a small cul-de-sac.

"Huh." He carefully puts Gustave back on his feet. "More humans?"