Horizon Ridge you are free from the bonds that bound you

Bound northeast, Miranda reminisces. 

Out of a forest rises a thick slab of rock, a giant's browbone, dimpled and rugged (phrenologists would have a field day with this one) breaking apart the more or less uniform horizon. Somewhere a bird calls out into the saltwater smells. Ranks of balding trees run high up the sides of the ridge. To one side, it stinks of autumn, organic matter decaying and oozing broken-down sugars, to the other, you're hit with the surf.

A dark man is climbing the ridge, and he doesn't smell of a pack ... Miranda's curiosity takes over again as he follows in the stranger's steps up the rough stone surface, a safe distance away -- he lets out a low chuff in lieu of a hello.