The Shouts of Rust
Once upon a time, when the Earth was lonely, a man named Rust made his way to the top of a mountain to shout. It was a yearly ritual, and, as I said, the Earth was lonely, so there were few passers-by as he made his way threw winnowing valleys and up steep, curved paths. The journey itself was a hard slog, and though there might have been meaning in it, Rust didn’t pay much attention. For him, there was grandeur at the top of the mountain. And, more than that, there were the valleys, which were beautiful, but made ever more exciting because when he shouted, they shouted back. When first Rust took to shouting atop the mountains, the Earth shook slightly. And all that the valleys did to shout back was merely echo the bellows that Rust issued. The Earth, it must be said, was at first confused by the cacophony of sounds that reverberated back and forth whenever the mood took Rust to put forth his cry. Indeed, it was that the Earth shook herself, cau