Journey to the Summit

The world was a canvas of gray when they reached the peak. A biting wind whipped at Tenzing's prayer flags, sending their faded colors dancing in the swirling mist. Beside him, Elias, a man carved from granite and weathered leather, planted his ice axe with a grunt. Elias was a stout man, his face a roadmap of wrinkles earned from years in the mountains, his eyes the color of glacial ice, constantly scanning the horizon. His thick woolen jacket and sturdy climbing pants were practical, unconcerned with style. "Sunrise soon," Elias rasped, his breath misting in the frigid air. Elias pointed towards the east. A sliver of orange was beginning to bleed into the gray. The fog began to thin, revealing the jagged peaks surrounding them, piercing the clouds like the teeth of some ancient beast. It was a breathtaking view, terrifying in its scale. The two men watched as the sun finally broke free, painting the snow-covered peaks in hues of gold and rose.