There’s a fence at the bottom of the mountain.
It’s not a good one. It’s old, chain-link, rusty. They don’t know how far it goes. It can’t go all the way around, can it? No, Mt. Ebott is too big...
It doesn’t matter anyway. It only takes a few minutes of walking along the edge to find a part where it’s mostly fallen down flat, and they can get over it by very simply walking. It rattles, and it lifts a little once their weight’s off it, leaving a hundred diamond shapes in the dirt.
The only marks are their own. Nobody’s been here. Nobody will be here.Â
Nobody is here.
They climb.Â
It’s not fast. It doesn’t need to be. There’s nothing chasing them. Nothing can chase them. It’s not like they’re real. Those marks they made are imaginary, surely.Â
All just as pretend as monsters.
