He stood at the edge and watched the alabaster rapids surge in anger below.
His lungs filled with pine suffused air. The sun sat heavy on the horizon to the west. Long ribbons of plum and vermilion laced the sky, bathing the terrain in their lavish shades. The rustle of the trees and the roaring of the river were the only sounds that penetrated his ears. The inhabitants of the forest that would normally scutter underfoot or soar overhead, were deafeningly quiet. He scoured his pockets to make sure he didn’t forget to leave the note; he didn’t.
It was time to conquer this. It was time to fall.