The van slows down. Its taillights illuminated the landscape, and the yellow light of the turn signal began to wiggle. They drove another fifty meters on the 105 before entering a small, barely passable road. There were only two wide ruts, presumably the work of trucks, to allow them to move forward, and the raised edges of the road were so close that they could only pray not to come face to face with a other vehicle. However, as they progressed, they passed several refuges dug in the snow to allow the crossing. All around them was bumpy, snow-covered moorland, dotted here and there with clumps of fir trees. After...