The cold stillness of the night surrounds me. Eventually it penetrates my sleeping bag and wastes no time blowing straight through my skin. Once it reaches my bones, there is no stopping the reckless dance known only as the shivers. My toes feel like they have been hit repeatedly with a ball pin hammer. My mummy bag is a delicate ecosystem and very temperamental. I have to constantly pull my shirt and pants off. Folding my arms close to my chest but loose enough to allow my hands slack to place between my thighs. That position will last me a solid hour of sleep and then I am given a slap to the face by ice chilled wind. I lie there frustrated watching my clear breath turn to white smoke only to vanish back into the black abyss. Tossing and turning, dancing the night away hoping and wishing for the party to end. Instead of shading my eyes from the sun, I embrace her warm tight grip.