Part of him wonders if he's imagining it - the sound of his name echoing through the roaring wind and tundra. He's studied enough about how landscapes like this can do things to your mind (his time in the service was in Afghanistan, so he's had to do some level of research on mountains, on surviving if you get stuck). It's not until a few moments later when the voice is back that he catches something moving in the distance, a different color amid the white.

"Inej?" He asks himself aloud, though he knows for certain his voice doesn't carry. Not in this wind. Instead, Sam tucks his hood a little tighter over his head and starts off in that direction. When he's closer, maybe only about fifteen, twenty feet away, he tries again. "Inej!"