Once we’re at the bottom of this particular hill, the air grows still. The slopes to the north and west serve as windbreaks, and suddenly, you can hear more than a dull roar in your ears. Birds. Squirrels. Tiny critters under the torn, brown leaves. Maybe shrews or field mice.

I’ve mapped this valley, although if I had to say, it’s more Praise or dale than valley. Smack dab in the middle is the confluence of two tributaries that flows all the way to Sunset Pride. Hard to say what to call them. They’re wide enough to be rivers, and seem set enough in their path, but they’re also shallow...