Journey to the Summit

The biting wind whipped at Elara's exposed cheeks, painting them crimson against the pearl-grey dawn. Fog, thick as a shroud, clung to the jagged peaks surrounding them, obscuring the valley far below. Beside her, Tenzing, a man weathered like the mountains themselves, adjusted the straps of her pack. His face, a roadmap of wrinkles etched by sun and wind, held a stoic calm. He was a sturdy man, not particularly tall, but powerfully built with calloused hands. Tenzing wore a thick, woolen jacket, its earthy tones blending seamlessly with the landscape. A prayer wheel hung from his neck, glinting faintly in the weak light. "Almost there, Elara," he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the wind's howl. "The summit is just beyond this ridge." Elara nodded, her breath misting in the frigid air. She took a tentative step forward, her boots crunching on the frozen ground, and then another. The ground was slippery beneath her feet. She lost her footing, sliding slightly on the ice. Tenzing's strong hand shot out, gripping her arm firmly and pulling her back to safety. "Careful," he warned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The mountain tests us always."