The reflection in the lake pointed toward a small, completely barren hill, with nothing but some scattered shrubs halfway up and various sizes of broken rocks.
Such a scene was rare.
Dean squatted down, inspected the area, and seemed lost in thought.
"Dean, is there anything unusual about these stones?" Thompson asked, puzzled.
This small hill faced the prevailing winds, like a slope constantly battered by wind and sun. Vegetation struggled to grow here, and the rocks showed signs of weathering.
Wasn't this quite normal?
"These are rocks that have been blasted open with explosives."
Dean pointed at the rocks of various sizes around him. "Rocks weathered naturally are very brittle and often appear in layers, but these are not. This means they detached from the main body instantly. Walk slowly; I suspect there are holes around."
Thompson watched Dean carefully exploring the surroundings.
Doubt flickered in Thompson's eyes.
