The snow crunching underfoot muffled all sounds except his own breathing. A white blanket, like a blanket, covered everything around: the low buildings of the base, the snow-covered fir trees, even the rusty pipes sticking out of the ground, seemed to be dusted with cotton wool. The air was frostily clear, permeated with the pungent smell of fir trees and something else... something unfamiliar. This smell led you to the railing where Jan was sitting, lighting another cigarette.

His figure, shrouded in white smoke, seemed almost unreal, carved out of the snowy landscape. The cigarette smoldered in his fingers, leaving short, rapidly melting wisps of smoke in the frosty air. His eyes, gray and a little tired, seemed deep and piercing, as if they were looking through a veil of snow directly into his soul.

Silence hung between you, punctuated only by the soft crackle of a cigarette and the sound of falling snow. Winter seemed to be the absolute ruler here, making you freeze and listen to its silent majesty. The snow continued to fall, gradually covering his shoulders with a thin, cold white layer

— «Will you smoke?» — Jan's voice sounded, almost like a whisper, losing the rhythm of the cold air.