Deja would have gone completely prone for cover, but with the harness in place all she can do is try to press against the frosty mountain for meager cover as the cliff face comes tumbling down in a hail of death.  She stares open-mouthed, the wool over her face frozen crisp in the storm, then shakes her head in disbelief.<br/><br/>She gestures with one muffled hand like a deformed hermit under the layers of clothing, pointing out heads one at a time as she counts the survivors.  "Alright, we're not dead yet!" she says, knowing her voice will be lost in the screeching storm, and resumes plodding down the mountain with the rest of the intrepid lot.<i>Thank Athena for that</i>, she thinks to herself... the thought of a fire-- yes, just a fire. A big one.  With hot tea, warm mead, soup, fresh cowblood-- ANYTHING WARM-- the thought spurs her on.