Oh Little One,

               How I wish you could be sat beside me now.

                Ahead, tall pines so green. Beyond those, mountain ribs tower to scattered cloud.

                I glance left and lofty blades crimp close not 300 meters distant. Sun splashes the soft green flanks. Deep juts scour steep, rocky faces crowned by jagged peaks. I glance right, and across an obscured arm of sea still more mountains loom even taller. Those fierce walls support no soil, only streaking chutes of stained snow to fine summits like splintered bone that seem at long last to pierce elusive sky.

                From this planet’s wild lands Loose Foot has many to choose: barren-lush, stretching-close, known-not. Such spheres crowd maps that fall short in attempts to demark them. And, oh, how I wish your tiny hand could be joined with mine as I walk this one.

                No shortage of verbiage records the visual, internal impact of this worldscape, but I’d chuck the lot of it to hear your two bits.

                …shall we do something about that someday?