Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20200102024533/@comment-5543592-20200103022840

They left the Blackfoot reservation and walked west. The Rocky Mountains filled the sky in front of them, like the rim of an enormous bowl. Montana's environment was unchaging--more badlands, more tuffs of rough grass--and the further they traveled, the more the mountains seems to crawl towards them, rather then they approach it.

After days of walking, the mountains only seemed nominally closer. Josey spent one day telling an old legend from Utah, about a family who got trapped in the mountains traveling to California and had to eat each other.

A week passed by, and gradually they hit an incline, building towards what would inevitably be the foot of the Rockies. They mountains loomed above them. From fair away they were interesting features, something to catch your eye and admire. Up close they were seemed to swallow up the sky. They could crane their necks back and back and not even see halfway up the mountainside.

Despite their awareness of their destination and their over familiarity with their surroundings, the mountains still seemed to come on them suddenly. No longer could they see even a part of the way up the mountains, no longer could they see more than one, and not even a section of this singular giant. It stretched around in either direction, with only the barest hint of a curve. The scale of what they had to cross was difficult to wrap one's head around. The rest of Montana and the entire neck of Idaho was mountain range. How long would that trek take? And then they had to cross through eastern Washington itself. Weeks. It seemed insurmountable. This singular mountain in front of them, the first step on a thousand mile journey, was near insurmountable unto itself.

Up the mountainside, they could see a slot canyon winding its' way through the cliffs. The faintest of ways forwards.