As I type, Cairn protagonist Aava is squished awkwardly against a rock, hands twisted back into cracks, legs shoved into improbable spaces. I’ve been inching my way up this particular cliff face for some time; carefully scrutinising its contours and surveying the possible paths ahead in the desperate hope I’m not heading toward some insurmountable impasse. It’s slow, stressful, and surprisingly exhausting. But I also know the moment I finally drag myself up onto the nearing precipice – when the craggy rock surface I’ve been staring at for the past half hour suddenly explodes out into another stunning vista and I can finally exhale – it’ll all be worth it.
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