Rain lashed the exposed granite, turning the high rock into a slick, treacherous island above the storm-wracked mountain. Wind snatched at the nylon, threatening to whip it away. He worked with grim focus, fingers numb, driving stakes into the scant soil clinging to the stone. Each hammer blow was a defiance against the elements. Below, the valley vanished in swirling grey mist; above, only the drumming rain and his own ragged breath existed. Finally, the tent stood—a fragile, defiant bubble of shelter against the vast, wet indifference of the peak. He crawled inside, soaked but anchored, a tiny human warmth clinging to the rock.
