Birdie.

I created him facing forward with a clean background on purpose: on a t-shirt, a face like that is recognizable from a distance. And I created Birdie with the one thing he's sure of in life in mind: that people huddled together feel less cold. He's a kid from the southernmost train station in the world, in Ushuaia, who spends his days bringing passengers together on the platform bench, nudging one person over a hand's width, sitting another in the gap. Wearing his face on your chest is wearing his constant line, the one he repeats while he brings people together: that's how you keep warm.

What Birdie does as a kind of game, his species does for real, to keep from freezing to death. Emperor penguin chicks spend the harshest winter on the planet packed into a huddle of thousands, so tightly pressed together that from outside they look like a single dark mass. And that huddle isn't still: it moves in an extremely slow wave, tiny coordinated steps, rotating everyone toward the warm centre and sending back to the cold edge those who've already warmed up. No one is left out; everyone gets a turn at the centre. Birdie doesn't know it, but he carries that wave inside him.