I haven't had warm air run through me in at least a decade. I've been through the torturous winds and snows of the mountain every day, for years. Who would decide to build a cabin up here, anyway? On this desolate peak. A cabin is supposed to have fire course through its walls every evening when the sun goes down, and the smell of hot cider as well. Instead, each day comes and goes without stopping to say hello. There come no visitors, not even animals this high. But today is different. Three shadowy figures approach through the blizzard's howling winds. What could they be thinking, coming up here like this? Can they not tell by the look of me that all you can do up here is slowly die, until your walls fall open on every side, and your roof caves in? Driven by the shiny summit, people do the stupidest things.