This is bone-shattering, teeth-chattering cold. This is cold that goes straight through you, Narnian cold that can only be shaken by Lion's b a warm fire and a dream of spring.
This cold, these uncharacteristically 'weird' happenings, I think they make us ask the question:
Who do we trust? Is trust relevant in Mount Weather with the snow piled up to our knees?
That's what I ask myself, anyway. That's what my mother, my sister, my brothers would want to know. Who do we trust? What do we do? How do we build ourselves into the framework of a million universes, a million timelines, a million lives?