The cold Siberian wind whistled softly through the cliffside. It flicked off snowcaps and grey-bristled rocks, swirling tufts of snow around and around and around in lazy circles, before finally diving in a whoosh down the mountain. On its descent it lifted the blonde hairs of a traveler pushing her black boots forward against the snowdrifts. She was completely alone in the expanse of white. The wind paused around this figure, gently pushing against her thick snow jacket but finding every crevice tightly packed against the cold. The wind moved on. Nature does not often care one way or another about anything, and this was no exception. To the wind, the woman was just another speck against the snow. It flowed one last time by her cheek before disappearing into the winter.
The woman shivered. Her breath collected out into wisps of steam in the freezing air as she trudged through the snow. In one gloved hand she clutched a curious black instrument with a circular face, which she would look down to glance at every so often. At her hip, a small radio sputtered and spit. She ignored it and casted her eyes forward in a determined stare. She had been trekking through the Siberian snow all day, but showed no sign of slowing now. "67, 94. 67, 94. 67, 94," she whispered, repeating the numbers over and over to herself.
Miles away, two men on black ATV's split through the snow. The drone of their engines bounced off the mountains.