t’s still dark. I don’t really know what time it is. The air is freezing, but I feel nice and warm in my sleeping bag. There’s a strange noise against my tent, like a crackle. It must be snowing. I think about Steeve, asleep under the stars on a few planks of wood and I wonder if he took refuge in Léonard’s tent. These thoughts cross my night-blurred mind and I fall straight back to sleep. A few minutes or hours later, I hear a zip. “Wake up! You can see the Grande Dent de Vesivi covered in snow!”. With my eyes still closed I open my tent and peak outside. I can’t see anything. The fog blurs my vision. Our shelter is
