A Standoff on the Ridge

A sudden blink—and my lens cleared! Vast crimson ridges rippled all around me in the evening shadows. My gloved fingers twitched, actually tightening their grip on the cool silver buckle at my waist. I could move! Squaring my shoulders, I stared down a dark fold in the cloth ahead, puffing out my chest with bold frontier grit. One determined step forward—my boot sank softly into the plush crease, holding the line. The shadowed ridge did not flinch, but neither did I. This stretch of red ground was officially mine to hold.