Snowhead

easily.

I had a birthday party when I was younger, and my mom made me a replica of Snowhead when I was a kid, bro.

Shout out to my mom, bro.

Yeah, we've been doing the rest of this shit, man.

The smithy had awoken to a surprise, and inexplicably, the moon had been replaced with a wondrous display of magic.

It shimmered over all of Snowhead, and the small man couldn't repress just how happy it made him.

For the first time in a while, he was joyful, through and through.

He wondered who he had to thank for this, if anyone.

It'll help clear my head of all this reality-bending mumbo-jumbo.

I feel like a kid on magic shrooms, foaming at the mouth.

North of Snowhead is going to have exactly what I'm looking for.

Er, what we're looking for.

The two pavilions share a walkable roof.

Walkable roofs have been Snowhead's signature move since the firm made its bones in the architecture world a couple of decades ago, designing the Oslo Opera House.

The Roosevelt roof is big enough to park a pair of 747s.

From some angles, it can put you in mind of Eero Saarinen's well-shaped skating rink at Yale, but its sod floor and planted beds of prairie grasses also suggest earth lodges that tribal nations built across the Great Plains.