There’s always a ridge. You can picture it if you try hard enough. Early human, lean and weathered, climbing toward a jagged skyline with nothing but hunger, instinct, and a crude spear. He doesn’t know what’s on the other side. That’s the point. The ridge isn’t safety. The ridge is exposure. It’s where the ground falls away and the horizon finally reveals itself. He could turn back. Most terrain rewards turning back. The valley is familiar. The fire is warm. The tribe is the