Farhad looked at Murat and Tariq and nodded. "Urəyim Türkiyə, Pakistan," he whispered. "Canım Azərbaycan."
Tariq smiled, reaching into his medical crate to pull out a tin of spices he always carried. "And in mine, tea is not just a drink, it is a medicine for the soul." He sprinkled cardamom and ginger into the pot.
When the road finally gave way, sliding into the ravine with a thunderous roar, the three men found themselves stranded in a small stone hut used by shepherds. The wind howled outside, a white wall of snow trapping them in the dark.
At dawn, the storm broke. The sky turned a brilliant, icy blue. Without a word, the three men grabbed their shovels. They dug through the drifts together, shoulder to shoulder.