Young Writers Society

Don't be afraid of it. Look it square in the eye and see it for what it is.

Haleo squinted out at the stretches of white. 'What is it?' he whispered. Snow. It's just snow. Lots and lots of white snow. It falls from the sky onto the land that it claims. 'It has no life, no mind, no identity.'

A huge gust of bitter wind hunched him over and brought him closer to his knees. 'It's an element, a landscape. We're crossing through it.'

The mountains felt quiet, but they never were. The wind stole away the sounds of the mountains, so the only thing that ever reached his ears was the distant roar of an avalanche.

'It's just snow!' He shouted.

A high pitched squeak came from the haphazard heap of snow behind him.

He climbed down and crawled in through the entrance of the igloo. Mattie sat pulling a broken comb through her long, wind torn hair. 'What are you yelling about now?' She said. 'You talk to yourself more than you talk to me these days.'

'That's because you never talk about anything interesting. You're always talking about food or hair.'

The conversation ended there. She scrambled back down beneath her blanket and held the comb in her hand.

Haleo checked the candle was still burning bright and lowered himself down. He wouldn't sleep tonight, not after that. 'It's just snow,' he whispered. 'No life, no mind...' Superstition wretched in his gut. He would say no more in case- just in case-the wind outside heard him. Just in case they woke in the night to the sound of an avalanche right above his head.

Even after her breathing had slowed and her body had fallen limp, his sister's skinny fingers still stroked the stones embedded into the edge of the brass comb. It was the only thing she still carried from home.

It had belonged to their mother, who'd had hair the colour of sunlight and fair skin. Mattie looked like she'd been made with the same mould but painted by a different artist. She had the same mousy nose and round cheeks, but their mother had been so pale, like the snow and spring sky. Mattie was like fire and wood- an interesting combination.

Sometimes the two might come together and save your life, and sometimes they could destroy everything you have. Maybe that made her volatile. Maybe that made her more dangerous to herself. Or maybe it was just that she was thirteen, three years younger than himself, and she should have been making dresses and cooing over boys in a cottage on a hill somewhere. Not here.

Sleep came like a bang to the head. He flinched, opened his eyes, and the dim blue haze of morning was already starting to lift from the snow outside.

"Come on fishface, it's almost light. I want to shoot down some breakfast. I swear I'll die if I go another day without eating.'

With blankets rolled and bags reloaded he stood back out on the ridge and scanned the horizon one last time before they started the descent down. If they made good progress they'd be on the next peak by nightfall, and beyond lay the plains of grass and soft rain and farmland. He could almost taste the life in the air.

There is no life in the mountains, only the flocks of birds that cross over the peaks in the brief morning warmth. He longed to see other faces, to shake hands and surround himself in human voices again.

It was the rope suddenly clasping around his wrist that dragged him back down from his daydreams.

Mattie tied the other end of the rope around her own wrist and yanked on it. He mouth made the shape of words that the roaring of the wind stole away and they began their descent towards the next peak.

Two more days and they'd be on dry land again. The detour to Vengrein to pick up supplies would add another two weeks to their journey, but from there it would be a straight road to LeMetique. Two extra weeks didn't seem like much; climbing mountains and walking dirt paths was the easy part.

Getting the incendiaries into the heart of the capital without being detected, that was the hard part.