Wendolyn sat on a rock, staring out to the vista around her.
The land dipped down, trees dotting the hills, a stream tipping over an edge to create a waterfall. At the lowest point, the stream joined another, a river spawned from their small trickles and carrying the water far off beyond sight.
The hills curved up beyond the river, back to another mountain. A forest climbed as high as it could, but the line was clear: no higher. Only rock, and above that, a dusting of snow.
Mountains stood side by side, deceptively close together. Friends in the great geological movement. Wendolyn contemplated them, their closeness, their distance, their age. They had seen so much, but sitting stationary, had seen so little.
To the side, a mountain had been carved away; only a little, some gentle aesthetic surgery. It was pretty, but only in a contrived way.
A few birds flew above her, and Wendolyn arched her neck to watch them pass. She sipped her water, and stood. The setting sun meant she needed to return to her lonely tent soon. She took one last look before making her way to the shelter.