'Snow' and 'Rosa'

The wind has grown sharp enough to cut at our skin, more of a gale than a breeze. And the music has risen into a wild, howling symphony that rings almost painfully in my head. Rosa says something, but i can't hear it over the lilting, still rising song of the tower. The message that i try to send back to the conmpany finds nothing but snow and the occasional shuddering ghost of a menu screen. We should rebury the tower until we can come back with more people, more equipment, set up proper protections from the weather. I t's not honest or logical. The tower was built to stand in storms, to sing in them

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