Morningside Cuesta The nocturnal vault of the heavens.

When Artyom happened across the prints of a cloven-hoofed creature, his anticipation grew. He followed them with renewed energy, dark eyes scanning for other signs that a herd had passed through recently, but all scat and scent he found suggested that it'd been a week or so since deer had roamed the cuesta.

"Блядь," the ranger spat the curse in his mother tongue, frustrated, before he hunched his gilded shoulders and pressed on.

From across the river he heard a voice and, lifting his crown to locate the source, Artyom's gaze found a tawny stranger. He parted his jaws to call back in response when the earth began to tremble beneath him and, much to his surprise, the banks of the river began to swell. Water pooled around his ankles in an instant and, with a fearful glance over at the burly loner, Artyom turned and fled before this latest disaster had the opportunity to sweep him away.

He had escaped misfortune but, days' travel from the Lost Creek Hollow, he figured he would carry on with his search. It proved fruitless and by the time Artyom chose to abandon the hunt, the changes in the land meant he could find no safe path to return. So the ranger turned away, defeated, and hoped his comrades would be okay.