It was the worst day to get lost on a mountain.

I’m not entirely sure there is a good day to get lost on a mountain. If I was to choose a day, then it would be a day that I had my rain coat, some food and something to drink. It would not be a day were I had a three hour time limit to get over mount shrababa.

Well…I guess you can’t have everything I thought as I strode over a rocky ledge, the wind pinching my cheeks until they were red. If I could have just a bottle of water that would be great. Now I think of it there seems to be no lack of water around here; The wind against me pushing all the rain into my face.

Still I went on, mustering up all the resilience I still had in me, which was not a lot, and remembered the reason I was here. For generations down, father after son after mother after daughter, it has been up to my family to protect the valleys and the springs of Mount Shrababa and preserve it ancient and rich history without an means of Adam’s Army destroy it stunning glory. All I had to do is, like the rest of my family has or will do, prove that I was worthy of the Shrababa surname and the title of a Shrababian protecter. Simple. All that lay just across the mountain. I could do this… no I can do this.