Frostfire Ridge iksuktaktuk

Jarring as it was, the impact comforted Lane in confirming that the spectral man was, in fact, quite real. She opened her mouth to apologize, and it was immediately filled by a mass of snow blowing down from the treetops. So what actually came out of her mouth was a spluttered, "Fucking hell.."

Thankfully, the man wasn't waiting for Lane to get around to an apology. He ushered her forward, and Lane scrambled to her feet to oblige. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a branch rip away from a tree to the north. "Watch--!" In a split second, the branch was upon them. Luckily, it cleared their heads by a wolfslength or so, but Lane ducked anyway out of reflex. These trees were pretty much just a collection of widowmakers, as far as Lane could tell from her experience as a naturalist. They weren't going to be safe here. 

"South over the ridgeline, then west!" Lane raised her voice, hoping her companion caught enough of her words to understand her suggested course. Once they were over the ridgeline, the mountain would act as a natural barrier against the northern winds. Traveling west would then bring them away from the widowmaker evergreens and toward the boulder field, where they could hopefully find more sturdy shelter. 

Of course, Lane was open to other ideas. The scarred and hardened alabaster man looked like he belonged with the snow and ice-- he probably knew this terrain and this type of weather a whole lot better than she did.