@ fisher Hairless zombies, please tell me that's not a thing here. And yetis? I'm looking to avoid another encounter with the Guardians of Shambhala.
SNOW BLIND
It was freezing out. Was global warming a real thing here? Trudging through the snow was not what she'd had in mind in moving up the road to get to the inn. She should've stayed inside. Too late now. Could she feel her toes? It was beginning to seem very unlikely. The snow on the path was ankle deep, packing into her shoes, soaking her socks. This was getting ridiculous. And that wind—the cold cut so sharply that it seemed impossible to get in a breath and made her eyes sting with tears, whipping against her cheeks. No wonder she preferred more balmy weather, beaches, Florida. Not somewhere where the air hurt her face or the cold sucked out the oxygen from the atmosphere. Tibet of all places, even high up in the mountains, hadn't been as bad as this.
"Crap." Elena grit her teeth, biting down hard enough to make her jaw hurt so they wouldn't bang together painfully while chattering.
She was good with the oversized jacket for only another few steps when she cursed out loud, the wind carrying the words, and she beelined for the nearest house. A light filled the front window at the porch, a beacon of hope. Her hands shook as she tried the handle, didn't bother with knocking, and pushed to let herself in on a gasping breath.
Frostbite was real, right? Elena was almost positive she'd lost all feeling in the tips of all her fingers. "He-hello?" her voice croaked hoarsely. Her hands rubbed together, were blown into. Anything to get the feeling back and not the prickly pins and needles. "Don't mind me, just some stranger, trespassing."
Were Nate with her he would've added in an awkward little giggle. But she was alone.
"Could be worse, I suppose," she was muttering out loud, cautiously creeping forward. "I could be in a chapel that's eight centuries old and leads into the pits of Hell and Lazarevic himself is there in the form of Satan with a dozen or so of his goons—hoshit—"
elena fisher | uncharted
@ fisher
Hairless zombies, please tell me that's not a thing here. And yetis? I'm looking to avoid another encounter with the Guardians of Shambhala.
SNOW BLIND
It was freezing out. Was global warming a real thing here? Trudging through the snow was not what she'd had in mind in moving up the road to get to the inn. She should've stayed inside. Too late now. Could she feel her toes? It was beginning to seem very unlikely. The snow on the path was ankle deep, packing into her shoes, soaking her socks. This was getting ridiculous. And that wind—the cold cut so sharply that it seemed impossible to get in a breath and made her eyes sting with tears, whipping against her cheeks. No wonder she preferred more balmy weather, beaches, Florida. Not somewhere where the air hurt her face or the cold sucked out the oxygen from the atmosphere. Tibet of all places, even high up in the mountains, hadn't been as bad as this.
"Crap." Elena grit her teeth, biting down hard enough to make her jaw hurt so they wouldn't bang together painfully while chattering.
She was good with the oversized jacket for only another few steps when she cursed out loud, the wind carrying the words, and she beelined for the nearest house. A light filled the front window at the porch, a beacon of hope. Her hands shook as she tried the handle, didn't bother with knocking, and pushed to let herself in on a gasping breath.
Frostbite was real, right? Elena was almost positive she'd lost all feeling in the tips of all her fingers. "He-hello?" her voice croaked hoarsely. Her hands rubbed together, were blown into. Anything to get the feeling back and not the prickly pins and needles. "Don't mind me, just some stranger, trespassing."
Were Nate with her he would've added in an awkward little giggle. But she was alone.
"Could be worse, I suppose," she was muttering out loud, cautiously creeping forward. "I could be in a chapel that's eight centuries old and leads into the pits of Hell and Lazarevic himself is there in the form of Satan with a dozen or so of his goons—hoshit—"