Craters and rocks. Henry could feel the rough broken and jagged surface under his feet, even through the suit.
Don't look.
Don't even look.
Henry's breath fogged the face plate, then the glass would clear, only to fog with the next breath.
It wouldn't do that normally, but he had turned down the flow. Sweat trickled down his cheek inside the suit. He had turned down the power. It was uncomfortably warm now.
None of this bothered him. His nose itched. That bothered him. There wasn't anything he could do about it. Not one thing.
Henry looked out again. Just brown and black rock, pocked with small and large craters. This was one big rock surrounded by crater after crater.
Henry was so tired.
"I'm never going to make it," he thought. "I'm going to die."
The itch on his nose came back. He wasn't sure death would be that bad. He stubbed his toe.
He looked again. He checked the stars. He was headed the right direction, so far. He tried not to think about his nose, and how it itched and that there was nothing he could do to stop it, not one thing.
He chose a crater rim in the distance and started walking again. He reached down and turned down the suit power a little more. The fog on the glass stopped clearing completely. He could still see his chosen point. That was going to have to do.
Henry trudged on, aching to scratch his nose.