…wind roared over the climbing party as they hunkered down on the east side of the snow-covered mountain. They had planned for this, bringing plenty of supplies and food to last them a week. What they hadn’t planned on was losing their guide. He had went outside of the tent to tend to the packs. That was two hours ago.
A decision had to be made between the four of them. Continue on, or head back. Or try to find their guide. With the storm raging it was hard to see anything past an outstretched hand. Looking for the guide was thus ruled out, for whatever befell him would probably befall them should they chance it.
The mountain looked down at them, tall and proud, and indifferent to their situation. The men appealed to it, looking for a sign, hoping their venture would not lead them to ruin. The mountain chose to remain stolid as blustery snow drifts draped themselves on all sides.
Night was approaching. The men, with no other options, chose to remain where they were until daybreak. A decision that was forced on them as the wind picked up and layered everything in even more snow. And as they fell to fitful dreams the mountain, suddenly tired of all of the snow, allowed a vast layer to escape its clutches, to flow eastward, downward like a river torrent, sweeping away and covering everything in its path.
Arid Testimony 