I leap from a jagged precipice, dashing across patches of treacherous scree threatening my landing, then continue my sprint upslope towards the green waypoint still hovering frustratingly overhead. Wiry trees huddle against the walls of the narrow gully, trading sunlight for shelter from the obvious water erosion gouging a path to gravity's whims. My limbs help stabilize me when I need to vault a particularly dangerous fold of landscape, but it's still slower going than Box and I anticipated.

Mountains make their own rules, Sky. At least, that's what my archives say.