Sarah’s woolen socks made her feet feel cramped in her boots, but she knew she’d need the extra warmth. The loose fisherman-style sweater she wore over the snugger, standard-sized sweater—both of which Tessa had provided—made upper-body movement difficult. That effect was multiplied when she struggled into her own sheepskin coat. She trudged to the window, clutching the mug of coffee Tessa had brought to her. A lunar landscape had replaced the Morrison yard, outbuildings, and the Montana countryside. The wind, greatly diminished, nevertheless continued to snipe at and sculpt the snow. The morning light was a washed-out gray filtered through the still-falling snow. Despite the heavy clothes, she shivered briefly. She finished her coffee and carried the mug to the kitchen, where the others were gathered. “I’ve got a couple of things to say before we go out,” Danny said, “but here’s what we all need to keep in our minds every second we’re outside: don’t, for any reason, run or exert yourself so that you have to draw deep breath.
