Earlier, on the ridge, I wasn't bothered by my loneliness. I found an empowering feeling in it. But here, in the deep woods where the darkness grows, with the sky getting darker and rain threatening, I sure wouldn't have minded having a friend to share my troubles with. I try to keep a clear head; nothing good can come from panic. I consider the worst possible scenario. I'll have to walk all night. I'll have to sleep in the mud under a wet tree in the cold night air. Maybe a bear will make a meal of me in my sleep. I won't be able to sleep. At worst, I'll have to stumble through the dark shivering. Maybe I'll fall while climbing in a boulder field and break my ankle, and have to drag myself the five kilometers to Jasper in pain, with my face in the dirt. Maybe I'll never make it back, and just lie there lost on the mountain with a broken leg calling out in vain for help. I'll try to start signal fires by using the Fred Flintstone twig-rubbing technique. I'll find the wood too wet to burn. That technique never worked anyways. Maybe I'll lie there immobilized in a clearing, with a nice view of the town; so close, yet so far away. I'll be able to see the people in town, but they can't see me. It would be just like those nightmares I used to have. Nightmares where I'd call out for help but my voice is too quiet for anyone to hear. Maybe I'll lie there starving, watching from the mountainside as life goes on as normal in town, while my body slowly decays and withers away. I need to get off this line of thought.