What happened next horrified me. We should have listened to Hans. He knew these mountains. We did not.

The unique Icelandic climate sometimes causes small whirlwinds in the mountains. They tear up rocks and dirt, smashing anything in their path. Hans and I somehow survived, but my uncle was thrown into the air and down to the sharp rocks far below.

The mountain killed him, as if angry that a mere human would try to uncover its secrets. We have learned our lesson and will never come back.

Rest in peace, uncle.


What should I do now?