Orem watched Chris emerge slowly from his tent, frost
breaking off the flaps. He trudged through the thick snow, leaving boot-shaped
holes in the hard crust of snow atop the softer snow underneath. As Chris approached
he looked up at Orem, who answered his questioning eyes with a shake of his
head. Chris looked west to where their ship was bound in ice.
The crew had been stranded on the ice since before the
perpetual dark. The cycle of day and night had returned to what they were
accustomed. But the ice had not relented its grip on their ship.
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