Once you get onto safe ground for awhile, it's hard to remember how different the tops can be. When we fled down late off the side of Sharkstooth, this massive cluster of spires was looming over my shoulder. I felt like we were being chased back low, tumbling over the talus. Looking backward, a strange night veil had closed and the rocks seemed to be smoldering darkly in starry scariness. Even though we had just been on top of the thing, it was suddenly a total mystery again.
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