The warmth settles over him like a blanket. He awakens without opening his eyes and settles into it, feeling every part of it. It's under his shirt, his sweater, and his two coats. It's under his skin, flowing through his veins like warm water. He remembers something about the warmth. A woman had mentioned it to him. Her skin like worn leather. Her teeth firm and white. Her name was Sherpa, he recalls. She had mentioned the warmth to him. But what did she say? Perhaps it wasn't important. He feels something else, apart from the warmth: a firm hold around his left bicep—a hold that's hotter than it is warm. A halo around his arm. [i]The bandana[/i], he remembers. Deep blue—covered with constellations and shooting stars. Jane's bandana. He still has it. He cracks open his eyes—shreds of snow flittering away before him. He sees the rocky floor of the cave. He can't remember when he stumbled in here. It was somewhere between a few minutes ago and a few days. Perhaps it didn't matter. He sees the walls of the cave. Water ripples over the rocks, causing them to warp and shimmer. He doesn't hear the flowing water, and then he does, like raindrops falling on a spring stream. A thought crosses him like a bird swooping through his path. [i]It's time to go[/i]. He sees the light pouring in, dim and yellow, from the entrance. Gold dust infused in the air. The light gets brighter, while the weight of his backpack gets lighter, and even lighter when he decides that it's not coming with him. He realizes he's lost a memory. Of Jane. The event has disappeared, but the feeling is still there. The feeling of two becoming one. It was shortly after the journey began, when she turned around to leave. She said she couldn't continue, after all, but encouraged him to go anyways. No. It wasn't. It was the avalanche—just after the halfway marker—that swept her away. Or perhaps it was that broken footing, whenever that was, that nearly plunged him into the clouds below, whereas she had not been so lucky. Perhaps she had left him a thousand times already. He steadies himself against the rocks. Had she even travelled to base camp with him? Or was he wearing the bandana when he got there? The bandana. [i]It's still there[/i]. He still has it. He stands at a cliff, unsure of where to go. But then the wind rushes in. It enters through his feet, lifts his heart, and leaves through his scalp, tingling everything on the way. It turns him around. It lifts him upward. He sees a rock. One of the million rocks that tore at his gloves and his fingers, so many times before. But it's so soft now. He touches it, and orange seeps out from his hand, turning it into clay. And clay, he finds, is much easier to grab. So he grabs for the next rock, and the next rock, and the next. He sees a bright red flag flapping brazenly in the wind. There's no way to go anymore. No more rocks to grab. Nowhere to go but down, and so he sits. And as he falls, he reaches for a hole in the flag, a weak spot, and with a satisfying sound, he tears off a ribbon with the weight of his body. And in his seat, he tucks it underneath the bandana and lets it flutter there. A draft forms in his lungs and rushes outwards. He is speaking. He is trying. The message doesn't come across like he wants it to, but the sound he makes conveys it for him anyways. He sees the world above him, across him, below him, and around him. The sky arches overhead like a whale the size of mountains. The horizon juts upwards like strokes from a paintbrush, mixed to the perfect colour. The snow below twirls and dances at every distance. He feels the warmth again, and his vision multiplies, as if he was watching the world through a kaleidoscope. And in front of him, he sees a thousand copies of someone. A woman. She's ascending. Coming to greet him. She's wearing a floral shirt, sandals, and sunglasses. Her golden hair flows out in every direction from underneath a blue bandana. She sees him, she smiles, and she waves. His breath gets slower. He watches it, for a time, until he feels he doesn't need to anymore.