- Emilio -
None of this makes sense.
Emilio shivered in the bitter cold. It was his turn to stand watch for the evening, though the term "evening" had little meaning when the sky had been smothered in churning gray for days. The wind howled like a living thing, clawing at the seams of his armor, rattling the rifle in his hands, and seeping through every gap in his clothing to gnaw at his bones. The world had been reduced to nothing but a shifting, endless white, a void where the horizon had ceased to exist. The blizzard followed them north as though summoned, as though aware. He had hoped for clear skies, but the stillness they had known earlier had been nothing but the eye of the storm, a cruel deception before the tempest's jaws snapped shut again.
