As they resumed their journey, the snow began to fall, soft at first, then in thick, relentless flakes. By the time they reached the final pass, it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Elena paused and turned to Mateo.
“Take the lead,” she said. “You know this route better than anyone.”
Mateo nodded and moved to the front, his ice axe in hand. The team followed in single file, their ropes keeping them tethered together. The silence was broken only by the crunch of boots on snow and the occasional bray of a mule.
When they finally descended into the valley, the sight of San Alvaro brought a collective sigh of relief. Smoke rose from chimneys, and children played in the snow, oblivious to the storm raging above. As the caravan entered the village, the locals gathered to greet them, their faces filled with gratitude.
“You made it!” cried Rosa, the village elder, as she embraced Elena. “We thought the storm would stop you.”
Elena smiled, exhausted but triumphant. “Nothing stops Summit Express.”
