"Fuck," Pick muttered, reaching the top of another steep ridge to see he'd somehow been turned around again. After leaving the forest Pick had understood the terrain ahead as a few rolling hill of grass, not these deep canyons and massive trenches that were almost like a walled maze at some points. Again he'd managed to find a slope that inclined softly enough to actually climb, and just like the last five times when he got to the top Pick found he had been going in any direction other than towards the mountain. 

"Fucking, fuck- fuck -f-!" Pick stammered, positive he had tracked each and every turn he made correctly. He should have still been heading for the mountain, but instead for the past hour he'd been traveling towards what looked like more rolling hills, and after that an empty wasteland. Stress beginning to get the better of him, Pick kicked at the dead grass beneath him and pulled on the hair left unprotected by his helmet. Angrily, he drove his shovel into the ground and knelt beside it, grabbing the map from his jacket and laying it down on the ground before him. With a frustrated huff Pick then removed his helmet, running his other hand through his hair while he placed the helmet on top of the shovel's erect handle. 

"Where am I?" he softly asked the map, hoping it would somehow start to make more sense. If anything it made even less sense than before, as for the first time Pick noticed the map's compass was missing. This wouldn't have been a problem if everything was drawn from the same perspective, but that wasn't the case as what looked like a village was upside down and on the opposite side of the map as the mountain. In an attempt to make sense of this oddity, Pick turned the map 180 degrees with the belief that he had somehow mistaken an upside down fissure or canyon for what he'd believed was a mountain. As his eyes looked over the rest of the tattered paper though, he saw everything was drawn with the same inconsistency. A picture of the sun lay in the center of the map, a forest of crisscrossing trees surrounding it. Around that and in various corners of the map were several poorly drawn types of terrain and oddities, with faded and almost nonexistent scribbles of writing here and there. 

With a defeated sigh, Pick turned the map back the way it was before with what he trusted was a mountain near the 'top' again. He then turned his head to it's real life counterpart, only able to hope the two monuments were one and the same. Unconsciously the now truly lost man licked his dry lips, and remembered the canteen at his side. Quickly he retrieved it and unscrewed the top, drinking a few heavy mouthfuls before returning it to be hidden under his jacket. 

A hunched silhouette against the seemingly eternal twilight, Pick gathered his things and began climbing back down the ridge. His mind had begun to wander, actually thinking for the first time since he'd escaped the underground- and he began asking questions, like how he was still alive...