I had stopped at 4,10 for the last time.
I ate everything I could, sat at the lake until my stomach stopped complaining, refilled the canteen, then packed the inventory with every fruit I could compress into what I had, helmets, armor cavity, boots, every hollow space turned into storage.
I looked at the lake for a moment when I was done.
Getting back to 0,0 took two days.
Half the beacons had leaned or fallen, swallowed by their own sinkholes or tilted past the point where the carvings meant anything, but enough of them held that I could still move from one to the next by sight, and I ran that line without stopping unless the ground forced me to.
Then I turned and started running west.
