Slipping Grip
Halfway up, the climb grew more treacherous. The wind screamed louder, tearing at their coats, and frost numbed their fingers despite the gloves. Greg’s boot slipped once, sending a shower of ice clattering into the darkness below. He gasped and clung desperately to his pick. “You alright?” Thomas called down, his own body pressed flat against the ice. “Fine!” Greg shouted back, voice shaking. But his eyes betrayed the strain.
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