text: You need to get out of here; the idea of just lying here is absurd. But where should you go? You have no idea where the trail is, and you are certainly not going to wander around in the dark looking for it. Your descent down the steep, rocky slope diverted you away from the small river you had been following, which you can now hear about a quarter-mile away. Lacking a more definitive option, you decide to head toward the water. If nothing else, the river is in the opposite direction from the campsite.
  
  Instead of standing, you decide to crawl backwards. This way, if Ligru reacts you will know immediately, and you will be able to lie right back down. You just wish you knew what was behind you. Taking a few cautious steps, one foot brushes a rock, so you adjust course. Ligru doesn't move. You back up some more, bumping into a small tree a moment later. Still Ligru doesn't move.
  
  Then you notice that you are going down a hill, and if you go far enough you'll be out of sight of the campsite. This could be a good development. Taking one last look at Ligru, you begin to suspect that he may be asleep even as he sits by the fire; even though his eyes are pointed straight at you, they haven't seen a thing in some time.
  
  So why all this crawling, then? You stand up and run down the hill, turning on your headlamp to see your way. A galaxy of whitish green leaves and silvery tree trunks surround you, whizzing by as you run for your life, hoping for at least one time tonight to find a spot on this whole big island not occupied by somebody else. How far must you go? Will a mile be enough? Two? Maybe you should keep right on going until you reach the Pacific Ocean, and hope Captain Mark has another runabout he can use to pick you up.
  
  You stop to look behind you, relieved to see no beams of light as Ligru and his professor friend chase after you. There are such things as small mercies after all. But you've covered all of maybe a hundred yards; you want to be where neither they nor anyone else will ever find you come daylight.
  
  The hill becomes steeper again, and it becomes clear that you are heading into a V-shaped section of the river valley. The stream no longer sounds distant, but like a living force gushing through the heart of the night. It occurs to you that its banks might not be a horrible place to hide; the rapids are so noisy that you won't hear anyone coming, but then no one will hear you moving about, either. On the other hand, from what you can see the terrain directly ahead of you looks like it might be forbiddingly steep. Maybe it would be better to keep to higher ground, contouring at this same elevation above the river where the terrain is less rugged.
  
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  > descend toward the river.
  This journey needs to come to an end in the shortest distance possible. Consider all that you have done today: climbed the ridge, dodged the first three Wobans only to get ambushed by the next five, climbed out of the pit using the sheer strength of your arms, found the Stone of Vul-Kar, climbed down the mountain, and evaded a drunk-but-murderous professor. The jury might still be out on that last item, but the prospects are looking good at the moment. The point is, you've had a full day, and you're entitled to a little bit of rest. You're becoming worried that you aren't thinking clearly anymore, and in your lack of sleep you might be getting a little delirious.
  
  So you proceed forward, heading straight down toward the river on the most direct route. As with the section of trail around the waterfall, it looks as though you have a series of rock ledges in your way, and so this is not going to be an easy descent. But it does look like it might be worth the effort, as you can faintly see what looks like a bench of flat ground below, at the further reaches of your headlamp's beam of light.
  
  There is no point in wasting time, so you take the first step... 
  
  The results are disastrous. Your boot slips on a sheet of wet leaves spread across the first rock ledge in your path. It goes out from underneath you, and desperately you turn, looking for something to grasp onto. But there are no branches or anything else within arm's reach, and so your momentum carries you over the edge.
  
  The first drop is only about six vertical feet, so when you first make contact with the ground nothing is wounded but your pride. But your fall isn't over yet. The ground is slanted steeply downward, and so you continue sliding, bouncing off trees like a pinball. It gets worse when you hit a large root and go briefly airborne again, landing on your backpack. Now you aren't sliding down the escarpment, you're rolling. And when you hit the next big ledge about twenty-five feet below the first you are going even faster than before. Your headlamp flies in one direction, you another. The landing is brutal.
  
  Your body doesn't come to a full stop until it slams hard into the trunk of a tree, halfway down the slope. The headlamp lands twelve feet away, its switch still in the "on" position. The LED is an efficient little light, and the batteries were fully charged that night you packed your gear on the Big Papi. So with no one to turn off the switch, it shines for several days and nights before slowly dimming and going dark, long after you have done the same.
  
  THE END