text: [Themes: Religious, Historical, horror, religion, monk, moral choice, monastery, bible]
  
  > Look around
  The sound is deafening as the river to the south crashes its way through jagged stones. White plumes of water explode off the rocks, soaking through your already damp frock.
  
  The horse nuzzles up against you, eyes blank.
  
  The tracks end here in a bloody stain upon the snow.
  
  Lucca's body rests in the snow.
  
  > show Lucca to the horse
  (first taking Lucca)
  There is nothing more you can do.
  
  > Swim
  You attempt to swim across the river. At first, all is going well, until a large chunk of ice slams itself into your back. You flail, grabbing at anything that will hold you.
  
  Nothing does.
  
  > ride the horse
  There is nothing more to do, and so you climb back upon the horse, and urge her back to Saint Cuthbert's.
  
  Just as the monastery comes into view, a sound echoes throughout the hills. A crisp, clean sound. Rock on rock.
  
  Still. The wind has all but stopped. Steep, white hills tower on both sides, blocking you in. The monastery looms in the north.
  
  The horse nuzzles up against you, eyes blank.
  
  > listen
  The sound continues. It is difficult to place: with the echo, it could be anywhere.
  
  Glancing around, you find the source, a dark shape high on the hill amongst some rocks. It is moving.
  
  The sound gets louder.
  
  > examine the shape
  The figure moves rapidly. Black against white.
  
  The cracking sound is joined another: a more diffuse sound. A rumble.
  
  > wait
  Time passes. Slowly.
  
  The rumble turns to a roar. Waves of snow begin coasting down the hill in an avalanche.
  
  The horse snaps out of its stupor, ears shooting up. Before you can move, she bolts off down the pass.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes. Slowly.
  
  Trees are snapped like twigs, joining the slide.
  
  > wait awhile
  Time passes. Slowly.
  
  It is here.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes. Slowly.
  
  Waves of snow consume you, crushing the air from your lungs. You would fight, but the cold is so intense you cannot move.
  
  How can something so white look so black?
  
  > Go south
  You can go only north or up.
  
  Waves of snow consume you, crushing the air from your lungs. You would fight, but the cold is so intense you cannot move.
  
  How can something so white look so black?
  
  > Go upwards
  The sides are far too steep.
  
  The cracking sound is joined another: a more diffuse sound. A rumble.
  
  > Go north
  You run north a little ways, but it does little good. The avalanche still approaches.
  
  The rumble turns to a roar. Waves of snow begin coasting down the hill in an avalanche.
  
  The horse snaps out of its stupor, ears shooting up. Before you can move, she bolts off down the pass.
  
  > pray to Cecilia
  The words slip out of your mouth, and immediately, a gentle glow flows from your forehead all around. It washes away the cold and pain, leaving you bathed in warmth.
  
  Eventually, it subsides and you feel no different than you did before.
  
  Trees are snapped like twigs, joining the slide.
  
  > ride the horse
  Not wanting to find out what the noise is, you get back on the horse and urge her on to the monastery.
  
  The noise continues to grow. You look up and see the side of the mountain sliding down in a massive avalanche. You spur the horse on, but she isn't fast enough.
  
  The roar of the snow is not the last sound you hear. Who knew horses could scream?
  
  > pray to Cecilia
  The words slip out of your mouth, and immediately, a gentle glow flows from your forehead all around. It washes away the cold and pain, leaving you bathed in warmth.
  
  Eventually, it subsides and you feel no different than you did before.
  
  The cracking sound is joined another: a more diffuse sound. A rumble.
  
  > wait
  Time passes. Slowly.
  
  The rumble turns to a roar. Waves of snow begin coasting down the hill in an avalanche.
  
  The horse snaps out of its stupor, ears shooting up. Before you can move, she bolts off down the pass.
  
  > Go south
  You can go only north or up.
  
  Trees are snapped like twigs, joining the slide.
  
  > Up
  The sides are far too steep.
  
  It is here.
  
  Cold knives of pain cut through your skull. They ease off, leaving a dull throbbing behind your eyes.
  
  > Up
  The sides are far too steep.
  
  Just a few feet from your head, the wave of snow splits in two, passing to either side of you.
  
  The rush lasts only a few more seconds before dwindling, and when it stops, you are shaken but unharmed.
  
  > go north
  With the avalanche over and the horse gone, you have no choice but to make it back to the monastery on foot.
  
  You don't know how long it takes. All you know is now the sky has clouded over, and drifts of snow make their way down from above.
  
  Broken stone and snow are all that remain here. A north-south path with but a few footsteps can be picked out through the rubble leading from the monastery towards Rovato.
  
  A tangled mass of corpses lines the southern side of the former gate.
  
  > go north
  The light is gentler now. No, not gentler: weaker. Clouds block the sun, making it easy to see the stable to the east in a field of white. The infirmary lies to the west while the gate is to the south. The monastery offers its hollow promises of warmth to the north.
  
  A faint, garbled sound rises from the east.
  
  > go to the east
  Half-a-dozen empty stalls show the plague's influence. As die the shepard, so does the flock. The smell winds its way through your nostrils, numb though they are. It can be escaped to the path in the west or the garden in the northeast. A small ladder leads up to the roof of the stables.
  
  A shrill, bleating noise comes from the northeast.
  
  > go northeast
  These gardens used to provide most of the food for the entire monastery. Now, none. A few black stalks poke through the snow, their appearance always perfectly predicted by the rows they were planted in. The wilderness is stronger here: twisted briars overrun the garden. The stables lie back to the southwest.
  
  A hole has been cut through the briars to the north.
  
  A garbled bleat rises through the hole in the briars.
  
  > examine hole
  A hole no larger than a man has been cut through the briars, leading to the north.
  
  A garbled bleat rises through the hole in the briars.
  
  > enter the hole
  Bowing your head through the brush, you enter a clearing.
  
  A small patch of snow surrounded by briars. This used to be part of the garden; now nature has reclaimed it. The belltower rises out of the briars: a small hint of civilization in the wild.
  
  The hole through the briars leads back south.
  
  As you enter the clearing, you see what the bleat was. A lamb, no more than a few weeks old, is tied to a branch, struggling frantically. He cries out in terror as a pack of wolves encroach from the briars. They are hungry and confused. Do they go for the small, easy meat? Or the larger, more difficult meat?
  
  Just then, a shout from the belltower draws your attention. "Yoohoo, father!" You look up to see Drogo waving happily. "You shouldn't have come: it's feeding time." -- he shrugs -- "Oh well. Either way, they'll get fed." With that, he disappears down the stairs.