Haphazardly placed stones on the side of the slope make a natural stairway for me to descend into the valley. Eyes focused downward, I only look at the step I’m on making sure it’s stable before proceeding to the next. These rocks have been here millennia, some probably spewed forth for the Twagbrook caldera, they’ve never moved until I stepped upon them. Some fall out of their hold leaving an exposed depression behind in the earth as they tumble down high-fiving other rocks. I make my way down and find the rock I displaced. Striking it into the earth a couple times I give it a new rut to stay in, thought I doubt it’ll falter on level ground.

            Ahead lies the Tataal Mountains and the forest covers my back, I’m in the maw of Mother Nature with the peaks of the Tataals the canines. There’s a small gap which I need to find to go through the mountains or else go over. Scanning the endless expanse of the valley, the tundra is alive with flamboyant heather, winged insects, small chirps, and rodents hiding from my feet. Amongst the wild mountain flowers lay rocks, stones, even boulders that could act as shelter. There are a people who brave this desolate landscape. They survive on the muskoxen that descend from the mountain in the warm seasons, natural shrubs, and stream fishes. They get their name from a layer of mud and earth they paint over their bodies to endure the harsh cold and so are known as the Painted People. As close as they are to Twagbrook they seem to be less affected, choosing an alternative lifestyle which they proudly claim as unheard of. They try their best to be unique and different yet a whole society is formed on many, if not all, of the Painted People being uniquely the same. I know this because I knew one of them, a girl that I’ve not seen for what feels like an age. A messenger from Twagbrook had acquainted us and we frequently corresponded and even met once. She wasn’t what I expected though; her profile didn’t match what I saw; however, it wasn’t a total loss. I got to know her a little that day but since we’ve not contact. Anyway, they live near the mountain pass where melted ice rushes down as a fall. A type of fish always returns to that point to begin a new generation and also it’s a source of continuous water. Why they haven’t made a farm from the fish eggs I’m not sure, but that’s irrelevant, what is, it will take me another day to reach them so I can find the pass.

            On I trek brushing through the heather absent mindedly picking the flowers tall enough I don’t have to lean over for. Their stems come up with the head and I tie the flimsy bodies together at the head’s base. They day is overcast with a slight breeze coming from the east as I head north. For an open expanse there sure is a lot of noise, more annoying than noisy.  Looking from my vantage there’s nothing and no one of particularly high intelligence or peculiarity yet every so often there’s a barrage of tweets! Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet everywhere at once then silence. What’s there to discuss? Why can’t I see what is tweeting? Sometimes, I believe, not every movement needs a comment when a comfortable silence will do. I like the scenery of the heather with the overcast contrast but I need to leave, on I have to go.

            The valley starts to bend showing hills with lone trees, limbs up to the Sun. Most of the trees are petrified monuments of arrogance to the valley’s environment. Other hills hold the remnants of a past civilization: castles, huts, barns, and watch towers pock the horizon. I had heard of such a society as a young boy, they had lived well before the settling of Twagbrook or even Dlo. Confined to the valley they prospered and ironically it was their expansion that had forsaken them. There are many theories and legends but I assume once they had found a world outside their own too many left to claim it. The older generation stayed, became incestuous, and eventually grew too uniform for their own good until the whole civilization became one person. I’m not too sure if it was a man or woman.

            Dusk on the plains, the Sun creeps behind the Tataals turning the grey clouds purple orange. Up ahead is a river flowing westward with a tower half sunken. Broken cobblestone and brick lay scattered about on the bank and like a frog on lilies I hop about to reach the tower’s peak. At the top is a cellar door with stairs that I descend thinking surely there’s a dry spot in the tower actual. The chamber had no lights or scones but rather a deep blue tint from the water that pooled at the bottom of the stairs, the heavy hue became brighter as I descended until only one step separated me from the pool. The main chamber was circular in shape with stone walls adorned with big game, unlit candles, dead floral arrangements, and a weapons rack with two swords, a bow, and a quiver of fourteen…no….fifteen arrows. In the middle sits a dais with a great chair seating a rather comatose host.  I found the water only came up to my knees and I waded the clear pool over to the weapons rack, little mist-carp darted from my ripples. I secured the weapons and turned back to the host looking at his seat. Peculiarly he seemed to have his wrists tied to the arm rests but what I really think did him in was the blade through his clavicle and the chair. I left the blade alone and looked around the chamber for anything else.

            I couldn’t help but feel I was intruding upon my host’s space so I bid him adieu to return to the top and count the stars to sleep. I lied on a pile of rubble and looked up at the heavens to a divine delight, the sky was illuminated! Colors sprinted and swirled o’er head before my very eyes. Polite purples yielded to jealous greens intermixing with ravenous reds washed out by bashful blues; each color carried a tinge of yellow passed off by each color to the next. Stars stood shyly behind this celestial spectacle dotting the hues and waves with interstellar light, the infinite rays of ancestors watching the world they left behind. I was moved. I couldn’t sleep but I couldn’t rise up, I dare not blink to miss a second. What did the coming of the lights represent? Am I the only one to see them and has this happened before?

            I can’t recollect exactly when I finally slept for I blinked only once and the next light I saw was the Sun just above the horizon. My eyes were open but I hadn’t relinquished the glaze from my lids. The burbling of the river below hopping over and around the stone foundation was like a metronome until finally my mind clicked on. The air felt brisk with the breeze carrying traces of the morning dew. A look at the welcoming river and I decided a dip would be pleasant. I leapt from my perch and splashed into the deep, cool water. I dunked my head in the current which I hadn’t done in years and now with my face clear of dirt and my head free of filth I left a notch on the side of the tower with a symbol of my passing, _________, and continued northward through the heather brushing past the wild flowers and tall grasses to find the town of the Painted People: Tsoper. Hoppers flutter from blade to blade always a step ahead of me. When I look at them I wonder what it’s like to see something bigger than myself and totally at the mercy of something else. If we had a way to instantly remove every bug, insect, and creepy crawly from the earth then nature would surely suffer. Plants wouldn’t be pollinated and the food chain would break but how dire would the effects be if there was a way to instantly remove every man from the earth?  So I inch my way closer to the mountain village and take care to step lightly.

The valley around me,
an opening surrounding
nape of the mountainside
subject to nature’s pounding.
It’s past this place
of infinite solitude
more people I seek
or one person I knew.
The wild flowers
come not from showers
but from snow and sun
slipped off mountain towers.