The pale rain of that morning is a truce he welcomes; throughout the expedition the storm has been relentless.
A dream kept him awake in the darkest hours.
His intuition guided him blindly through the mist.
At last he has found, beneath the thick layers of ice, the horns of the relic.
Maybe the solid ground from which he operates is the shape thoughts take when they freeze.
Maybe the surface is more fragile than he imagines.
But he is willing to take the risk.
He will not go gentle into that good night.