The setting is foothills at night, with a mostly-full moon illuminating the woodlands and rocky outcrops. The sound of footsteps points to two people coming out from a cave -- two women and the subject of the memory, who is carrying a fourth person. All of the walkers have packs on their backs and look like they have been traveling for some time. One of the women picks up her head and walks ahead. "We're almost there. Perfect timing; the moon is bright enough that we can keep going until we find a campsite."

The subject of the memory doesn't appear to hear her. They set down the person they are carrying, gently, and scramble up a rocky outcrop and stop, staring at the landscape.

The lead woman calls out a name, then scrambles up beside the subject. "Are you okay? No agoraphobia?"

"No... it's just... it's so big. How far does it go?"

"To the ocean, I suppose. Or the ice up north. Unless you just mean the forest?"

"No. I... thank you."

"Sure thing, kid. Come on, it won't go away if we find a campsite."