>Maybe if we have to. But rappelling down into infinity isn't something we should do right now unless we have to.
>And since we don't have to, at least as far as we can tell, that leaves us with more mundane terrain.
>Let's strike out west, vaguely in the direction of that plateau.
>You decide you're not especially in the mood to dangle precipitously over the abyss today, and instead head west, looking to find a way onto that plateau. This turns out to be less straightforward than you'd hoped, thanks to a ridge of jagged rock and a series of miniscule ponds that you are forced to slowly circumnavigate. Between the rise and fall of the terrain and the continually thick tree cover, more than an hour passes before you reach the peninsula, and almost another more before you can be wholly certain you're actually on it, when the trees thin just enough to catch occasional glimpses of the open sky to either side. The slope of the terrain is mild at first, but grows slowly steeper as you progress, and the final half mile is demanding enough to make you pause to rest more than once.
>When at last you crest the tree line and emerge onto the flat of the plateau, you are immediately braced by a fierce wind that sets your hair fluttering. Just a handful of stalwart trees find purchase on this windswept sheet of rock and gravel, their forms gnarled and stocky, but the view is absolutely striking. Everywhere but behind, you are encircled by the endless sky, and beneath you in all directions spreads out an expanse of a hundred shades of green, dotted with deep red and ribbons of blue. You can see clear to the mountains in the south, distant hulking spectres of granite that loom impassively above forest-capped hills. You can see the thin cascade of water sparkle in the sunlight where the river you just left tumbles over the island's edge, and two more just like it further to the west. You can even see the faintest hint of the tallgrass meadow you crossed last night, far to the southeast, in the shadow of the slopes beyond.
>Across hill and valley and sheltered pond, your eye wanders, taking in the landmarks and building a map inside your head to complement the one in your hands. There are still a dozen hills obscuring a dozen more valleys that you cannot see, but this is by far the best vantage you've had yet of the lands in which the garden rests and in which you must find it. Somehow.
