Nomad is still figuring out how she feels about mountains. Her homeworld didn't have any, on account of it being a largely geologically inert. She'd grown up among continent-sized fields of tall razorgrass, following the clan's herds across flat plains and gentle rolling hills. This place, though. This place has fucking biomes. Forests and mountains and deserts and taigas and all manner of other things that she'd only seen in movies. Kingfisher had laughed, just a little, when they'd reached the foothills and she'd assumed they were the mountains. Then she saw the real mountains, and started to understand why ancient Earthlings used to believe they were the homes of the gods.
The ground shifts under her feet precariously as she wanders a little too close to the edge of the path and she scrambles to reposition. The winding road up the mountain to Winterspine is barely wide enough for their mechs to traverse single file, and being buried under four feet of snow means it's tricky to tell where the actual edge of the road that can support her mech's weight ends and the loose stone of the overhang starts. Kingfisher picks her way along the path without any issues. Even the snow coming up over her mech's knees doesn't seem to slow her down. Nomad, on the other hand, feels like she almost falls off the mountain every fifth step, and is making this take twice as long as it should.
"You holding up ok back there?" Kingfisher's voice crackles over the radio as Nomad nearly slides off the road again.
"I feel like I'm seconds away from falling to my death. Remind me again why we don't just fly up there?"
"Because even if we weren't getting massive blizzards every other day, Winterspine doesn't have anywhere to land. Last time someone tried they ended up smeared across the side of the mountain when their LZ collapsed under them."
"Yeesh. So we get to spend the better part of a week hoofing it up the side of a goddamn mountain instead. Great." The mech's leg slides again and Nomad curses loudly as she jams the climbing axe into the mountainside. "How have you not fallen yet? I feel like I'm walking on a fucking ice rink."
"Oh, believe me, when I first started doing this route I almost got washed off the mountain during a thunderstorm. The first few trips are scary as hell, but once you get the feel for the route it gets easier." Another dozen steps, another slip. Kingfisher's quiet for a moment, then "There's an overhang a couple clicks from here, big enough to cram the mechs under and keep them out of the snow if it starts up again. We'll camp out there for the night."
"I can keep going. We're already running behind."
"Exactly, we're already running behind. We aren't hauling anything critical for peoples' survival, just mail and a shiny new comms relay. If it takes another day, it takes another day, and I'd much rather that than having to explain how I lost my partner off the side of the mountain. Winterspine will live without internet for another twenty-four hours."
It takes almost an hour to walk two kilometres, but they eventually make it to the overhang. Making camp has become a comfortable routine at this point. Strapping the mechs to the side of the mountain in case the joint-locks fail, tarps over the optics so they can start walking tomorrow without having to clear them off, and dozens of other little tasks to keep them busy for the next hour or two. Once they're finally done for the night, Nomad sits with the cockpit open, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, gazing out across the mountains. The setting sun splashes orange and purple across the white-capped peaks of the smaller mountains. The skies are clear, the air is crisp and cold, and even the cheap ration coffee seems to taste better. Tomorrow they'll have to continue their ascent through frozen hell, but right now, with a warm drink and a vista she could never have dreamt of before she left her home? Well, maybe life isn't so bad if there's moments like this along the way.
