The tension ratchets up a notch for no discernible reason, but then, do they need a reason? Is this not reason enough? He takes a deep, purposeful breath, fingers keeping pressure on his leg. Real. It was real. She was real.

He's Jewish, but like. Jesus Christ.

The dogs oblige, flying over the ice towards their destination. Peter probably should have been paying more attention to his surroundings, but he was just so thrown that he hadn't. They finally break free from the forest, the last of the scraggliest trees giving way to the blankness of the white, snowy landscape - the small down in the distance across the ice field.

"Oh, well. I, uh, I do. Know. Who you are." That much is obvious, Peter, thanks. His gaze cuts from the horizon line back to Gwen, unable to help it. "Is he...me? Or...different?"

How would she know, Pete, you haven't taken off your mask. He's such a mess, all that awkward messiness he's prone to as his civilian ego bubbling to the surface. It's kind of unfathomable to him that there's a version of him out there who doesn't know Gwen. He's not sure he likes the idea, vaguely ill at the notion.

"Wait - " His brain is finally catching up, and Peter's head whips back up to look at her. " - did you say Spiderwoman?"