29

The afternoon brings more hard going against the biting wind, more fruitless cave exploration. Every part of you is cold—a numbing, stinging cold that ravages your whole body. You feel as if you have never been anything but cold. If cold could be personified, it would be you. But still Zhu drives you on, relentless and remorseless, unceasing in his pursuit of a stone that may not even exist.

You drop back a little to walk alongside Stevo, who is strapped onto his yak. There's a delirious quality in his eyes now. He's trembling nonstop and clinging tightly to the beast's shaggy fur, but he is still trying to put on a brave face.

"Here, OafarBurea," he shouts down at you as you fall into step alongside him. "I've come up with a name. For this fella, the yak. You're gonna like this, you're a Yank. I'm calling him President Andrew Yakson."

"Stevo, I really don't care what you call your yak."

Alright, alright," says Stevo. "Just trying to lighten the mood a little. Everything's been so bloody grim lately." His words sound wearier than you were expecting; perhaps the pressure of staying positive is grinding him down. "Anyway, we need to keep things light now. What with Captain Serious going all cuckoo on us. Is it true he just shot that kid in cold blood? I mean, I know he was a Nazi and all, but you can't just kill someone like that!"