Almost easy to forget there was movement whatsoever. In fact, at times, despite Mereziah’s general state of mounting excitement, it was possible to forget what he had done in the first place, the decision he’d made to leave his station behind and rise upwards, alone, in the world. Lucid peaks — when he was able to reflect, feeling instances of freshness and clarity such as he had not experienced in many decades — he knew for certain that he had done the right thing. Only one direction was an option: up. The simple word lolled on his tongue when he whispered it and circulated giddily inside his brain like a drug. He would never go back down again, not while he was alive. Never see his station again, nor the ramshackle cabin his father had built. Never see his brother again. All the fixtures of his life grew farther away with each passing second. Yet he also had within him the capacity to lose his lucidity, his confidence. He could not allow himself to become maudlin; a positive mood, if he were not careful, would quickly deflate.
