Sometimes the boundary between life and death was no longer clearer than that of climbing the mountain. Up and down, it was dead, above and above, and under the feet, it was dead. Every movement, every inhalation and exhalation, all went through the cycle of life and death. This minute, no one knew what would happen next, or even the next second. Everything was so simple, but also so complicated.
At this moment, the threads of life were fastened to his hands. There was a c***k in the rock, one that could serve as a support for one's climb. There were some fine and crushed sand and stone, these fine threads needed to be dug clean, all the way until they made contact with the rough and cold mountain's skin. He inserted the five fingers of his left hand into the rock cracks, doing everything
