The night sky continues sprouting to life overhead, more twinkling stars emerging from their shadowed realm. A spray of unimaginably distant suns guides my run with their ancient light, feet bearing me unerringly towards the orange waypoint signaling the orbital shuttle's landing spot, a thousand meters away. Fishhook, one of the more recognizable mountains in the range that girds the forest's western edge.

And I have some questions about that geologic formation. That is definitely not natural. Looks like someone set off a class eight reality displacer at some point. An unbalanced peak like that should have collapsed under its own weight centuries ago.