• he was dressed all in fur
• got stuck only once
• like the down of a thistle
• leaving crumbs much too small
• not even a mouse

Not even a mouse could slip through the tiny gaps between stones, but frigid drafts infiltrated the hut from all sides. Even though he was dressed all in fur, Nick shivered. Climbing to the summit alone was foolish, just like everyone tried to tell him. But all the way up he felt cocky, especially after successfully making the eastern traverse. He got stuck only once, which forced him to backtrack and take a higher route, costing him precious time he didn’t realize he should be hoarding. As daylight faltered on way his back down, Nick spotted this rock-walled dwelling and decided not to press on. A night descent would be suicide. Now he stared sullenly at the small heap of twigs on the hearth, and shivered. His flint had disintegrated when struck, leaving crumbs much too small to be of any use. He might get a meager spark, with luck, which might light a sufficiently fine kindling like the down of the thistle, but all Nick had were twigs.

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