"Come on Ernest, give me your hand!"
The wind clawed at their clothing. The screaming wind was like a ravenous bird. Each new gust attempted to remove the two climbers from the mountain side. Ernest could hear his muscles groaning under the strain. His finger tips dug into the rock face. Jaw clenched tight, he growled at the wind. Three indomitable finger tips were all that kept him from falling thousands of feet down. And they were slipping.
"Your hand Ernest!"
"I am not agreeing to this!"
"You're slipping. Just give me your other hand and let me pull you up. Then you can tell me about the Twins later."
"I don't want to talk about the Twins Reader! Graah-"
The wind buffeted him again. That is to say it nearly pulled him off the rocks then slammed him repeatedly back into them. Not a pleasant experience.
"I think talking about the Twins is a small price to pay next to falling to death."
