Snejok & Gavrick
Gavrick
You ever notice how the wind can turn a clean patch of snow into a maze of ridges and drifts before the next gust wipes it all back out? It’s like nature’s own quick‑draw sketchbook.
Snejok
Yeah, the wind’s like a restless artist, sketching ridges that vanish with the next gust. I keep wondering if the snow remembers any of those fleeting patterns.
Gavrick
Snow forgets as fast as the wind does—if it wants to keep a map, it’ll just let the next gust rewrite it. The only thing that sticks is the way you get tired of chasing the same ridge again.
Snejok
I guess the ridge is just the wind’s way of mocking our patience—every time you try to catch it, it reshapes. Maybe we should just sit and watch the snow do its own, ever‑changing map.
Gavrick
You’re right—trying to pin down a ridge is like chasing a shadow. Grab a log, light a fire, and let the wind write its own story while you watch.
Snejok
A fire on a log feels like a small, stubborn candle against the wind's endless sketching, and I watch the sparks dance while the world keeps rewriting its own patterns.
Gavrick
Sparks are the stubborn little rebels that keep their own little dance while the wind writes its next chapter. Just keep that log steady and let the fire do its thing.