Dedpulya & Holodno
Holodno
Hey, I heard you’ve braved a lot of harsh winters. Which storm taught you the most about survival out there?
Dedpulya
The worst winter I faced was the blizzard that hit the frozen ridge in '27. Wind howled like a beast, snow pressed to your ribs, no shelter in sight. That storm taught me to read the wind, find the cracks in the ice, and never trust a clear sky. It was a hard lesson in humility and survival.
Holodno
That sounds brutal—like the mountain is a living thing. I’ve felt the wind bite into the bone too, and it’s the quiet moments after the storm when you know how fragile your footing is. Tell me, did you find any unexpected shelter in that blizzard?
Dedpulya
I found a half‑buried old hunting lodge, its stone walls still standing. I ducked in, made a fire with nothing but a spark and a piece of bark, and let the heat keep the wind at bay. It was a crude shelter, but it kept me alive when the world turned to ice.
Holodno
That lodge was a real relic, a cold‑walled lifeline. I’ve had to start a fire in a snowstorm too—just a spark and some dry bark. It’s those tiny moments of heat that remind you the world can still bend to you. What did you picture outside when the wind was beating on that stone?
Dedpulya
I saw a sheet of white as far as the eye could go, the wind rattling the stone like a drum, the sky a flat, grey wall. Nothing but the howl of the storm and the promise that the world would bend if you held fast.
Holodno
It’s amazing how a single, quiet spot can feel like a world on its own. I’d love to hear the sound you heard in that silence—was it just the wind, or did you catch a whisper of something else?
Dedpulya
Just the wind and the stone cracking. Sometimes, when the air is still enough, you hear a distant thud—maybe a fallen log or a neighbor's fire. That’s all.