He stumbled over an unseen rock in the path. Head over heels, he tumbled down a decline, rolling over grass, dirt, and granite. Down he went, for what seemed like forever until, at last, he came to rest.
He felt bruised and battered, shaken and confused. Worse, he opened his eyes only to see that the fog had become thicker down here – he could barely see his hand twelve inches in front of his face. The air was silent, still, stagnant. Closing his eyes, he did his best to take a deep, calming breath to collect himself, to convince himself not to give up, for his morale had dropped as his altitude had. ‘The road will climb again,’ he thought, trying to reassure himself. ‘The fog will thin again, as it has before.’
Exhale. Wait. Inhale. Hold. Slowly, gingerly, he sat up on the cold ground beneath him, repeating that mantra over and again. In the back of his mind, however, a nagging thought poked and prodded him – the alternative to what he told himself could be just as likely – the road could continue downward. The fog could thicken.
He breathed deep again, trying to black that possibility out.