On the 18^th day of the winter month of Imvest, a snowstorm blew over the Melti’s Mountain Chain during the middle of the afternoon. Trees which would have been visible more than 20 meters away were nothing more than shattered shadows, incessantly scratched by the relentless pouring of snowflakes. Though avalanches were a danger well known, there was something much more frightening than a simple quick death: to be strayed and alone. Those who survived such dreadful circumstances spoke of death in a different way than most; death does not always come to claim a soul but may visit for a limb or two.

Travellers knew better than to wander when birds remained silent for too long; after all, Kastosians knew the meaning of “calm before the storm”. Yet, this man walked, covering his face with a scarf made of wool. By keeping his external cotte free of snow, he protected himself from the cold by slowing as much as he could the increasing humidity within his cloths. The advance was impeded not just by snow and wind, but by the need to watch his steps carefully. His fur boots were strapped to snow rackets, but in exchange of not sinking as deep as he would have, care was needed to not step on them and fall. In one hand he carried a spear as a probing stick to avoid hidden pits. He was not alone: with a rope he and another man avoided getting separated.

-“Why are we not there yet?!” screamed the man behind him. “I can’t feel my toes!”

-“Just a little longer!”