It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain. Although, Marcus reflected, it could be worse. That bear could still be chasing him.

Hissing through his teeth, he manoeuvred his body through the thick underbrush, mindful not to put much weight on his right leg, where the bear had slashed his calf to ribbons.

From here it was a short walk to the mayday station. It had to be. Marcus had lost too much blood for it to be any further.

He cursed when he had to pass around a thorn bush, its prickles like teeth, the darkness within like a mouth eager to swallow him.

“Come on,” he spoke in clipped tones full of empty positivity, “it’s an adventure. Look at all the fun you’re having.”

But exhaustion had laid its heavy hand on his shoulders, and Marcus could feel his body succumbing to its sweet song.

“Just… a… little… further,” he gasped, “almost…”

He dropped to his knees, spots blackening his vision, his hands splayed in the dirt.

“I don’t want to die here,” he mumbled, distantly aware there was no one to hear him. “I don’t want to… want to… die.”

He toppled sideways, shoulder connecting roughly with the ground. From here he had a perfect vantage point from which to see the light arching through the trees, painting the leaves yellow.

Not a terrible place to die.

“No,” Marcus groaned, shifting himself upright on his elbows, “not… dying… here. No matter how… picturesque.”

With a barely contained scream, he clamoured to his feet, pain teetering him on the right side of consciousness. As he took his first step forwards, he stumbled, only keeping upright thanks to the nearest tree trunk supporting his weight.

And that’s when he saw it. The sleek silver outline of the mayday station.

Marcus could’ve whooped for the joy careening round his chest. But in the end he settled for slowly staggering home.