His ship had given up its ghost weeks ago. The reactor was damaged in the crash, offering no hope of repair, and with it went the emergency beacon. Now, with no hope of rescue, he leaned against the tree to rest his weary frame.
He listened to the soft wind, rippling the grass around him. Noticed, for the very first time, the blooming flowers bathed in the lunar glow of the twin moons above. He breathed a sigh of relief. “There were worse ways to go,” he thought, and felt profoundly grateful.
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