She went back in to warm and Mason rose from the couch where he’d lain drunkly mumbling and pulled on his boots and they went out together. They walked the mile up in the snowfield toward town, staggered by the vagaries of the wind. She heard most. The wind's drone. Mason maundering, whining. The crunch of boots in snow.
Up in the storm above the DEW line station a raven drew a dark arc in the grey, its flight spasmodic, and it made no sound. She wondered how such a breakable thing could persist all winter in this place.
Below the ridge the wind sock glowed horizontal, striped red white red white red. He intoned what could have been a wellworn ditty. “New ar-ri-vals, baaaaby mothers, risk-taking boo… tah-leggers, r’paired elders, the men-ta-lly unwell.”