Bloomin’ heck, he was half kangaroo not part mountain goat. Ascending the tallest spires in the land hadn’t quite found its place on his bucket list, yet there he was, legs screaming their protest, sweating like a whore in church, regretting the very point he’d decided to turn onto that cute little path - and what a dangerous little one it’d turned out to be! Banjo paused to consider the distance he’d come, the apparently endless mission ahead. He held tightly onto a breath and glanced hesitantly to the right, down the flank of rocky mountain, the deathly chasm from which he was almost certain lifted wails, screams of those broken and battered after falling ass-over-tit to the bottom.

Then again, it could have been the wind.

Because it seemed like an appropriate thing to do given the situation, the boomer slid his long-toed foot towards the edge (which lurked too close for comfort already), and a decent sized rock scooted along in front before taking the ultimate plunge; it rolled and smacked, jumped and cracked until he couldn’t pick it’s browny-form from the rest. Yup, that seemed to reassure his point about danger level. Banjo sighed loudly, releasing his breath at last and gathered body and mind together collectively, readying himself to continue. There was no turning back, there wasn’t the room. He hadn’t the foggiest idea about how he would get back down - would he eventually come upon the golden gates beyond the sky? Would he hit the top and fat over the other side?

The sound of his own chuckle filled the eerie silence around him - it seemed the thin, cold air was turning hi thoughts silly as a wheel.

Another sound touched his ears too at the same time. It was the sound of progression, one foot in front of the other, and the giddying buck began his turn to find the source. “STREWTH!” he cried  out loudly, as he found himself teetering instantly on the brink of destruction. Forearms waved about like windmills and he forced his weight backwards, a bubble of breath stuck fast in the base of his throat; “…that was a dumbass thing to do, Banj mate.”. Once recovered and secure on the precipice, the buck sent wisely his eyes back down the mountain instead, and coming along behind was … a lot of colour!

He waited the length of time for the stunted rainbow to wriggle on nearer, and he found that eventually it evolved into the form of a horse - billowy though still, like a ghost, or a nightmare skulking through the mist. He was certainly not asleep! “G’day!” he called boldly out to it, passing a wary glance by the nothingness beside him. “Hey,  might wanna watch your step there pal, she’s a tricky little trail. Wouldn’t wanna come gutsa!” Beneath the rim of his shadowing cork hat, a cheerful smile ignited - irrespective of the nervous pound of blood through his veins.