Outside, the wind howls.
Inside, she swings the hammer.
Outside an impenetrable darkness covers everything.
Inside, the fire is bright and warm.
Outside snow falls silently, building in endless drifts, covering a lost world.
Inside, he tells her she is wasting her time. Wasting her strength. Wasting their resources.
Outside, crunching steps leave prints in the always fresh snow. Some prints resemble boots. Others are bare, their owners having long since stopped caring about the cold. Other are different.
Inside, she ignores him. She swings the hammer again and again.
Outside, fists fall on reinforced doors.
Inside, She stops hammering.