The mountaineers tramp up the passive frosty highland. pale crystal shards collapse against their concealed feet. Condensation billows out of their mouths at every breath. A cliff topples below them. A distant aqua landscape flows around their view, lone clouds penetrate past the on going glacier, the wind moaning in their wake.
The only smell is the crisp eye watering, frigid air and the volcanic smell of rock.
Not a single creature to be heard, just the wind blowing mindlessly past your frost bitten ears. Also the crunch of shattering misty, minuscule shard of a glassy substance.
They can taste the air burning their throats, like a fresh breath mint.
They wonder if this mountain ends, its like an ice sculpture towering into the deep blue sea sky of this universe. A sun ray glints onto my crisp,but soaked with sweat, hair. The sun pierces their eyes once more before the snap back to the reality of the mountain.
