The mountain

## The Mountain

As far back as anybody in the town could recall, the mountain had been there, overshadowing everything like a quiet, everlasting watchman. Mists constantly enveloped its rocky pinnacle, and local people discussed it with a blend of worship and dread. Nobody had thought about getting over it, for it was said that the mountain was alive — that it picked who could pass and who might be lost for eternity. Many had wandered towards its slants, and generally returned, shaken and quiet. A couple never returned.

Yet, despite the alerts, there was consistently one in every age who couldn't avoid the call of the mountain.

This time, it was Elara.

Elara had grown up at the foundation of the mountain, where her folks had a little homestead. Her dad had frequently recounted the hill when she was youthful, continuously finishing with a similar advance notice: "Nobody ought to attempt to arrive at the top. The mountain chooses, not you." But rather as Elara became older, she found the narratives didn't fill her with dread as they did others; they intrigued her.

At eighteen, she had proactively investigated each valley and woods close to the town. She had quite a bit of knowledge about the waterways, the caverns, and the forest. However, the mountain — that was the one spot she had never been. Furthermore, it was the main spot she needed to go.

One fresh harvest-time morning, following quite a while of fretful dreams loaded up with the mountain's pinnacle, Elara concluded she could stand by no more. She loaded a little handbag with arrangements — bread, dried meat, and water — and told her folks she was going on a mission to assemble spices. Her mom raised an eyebrow and didn't yet say anything. Elara had been far off of late, an ever-increasing number of retained in her viewpoints, however, this seemed like one of her standard outings into the forest.

The reality of the situation was, that Elara had zero desire to return until she arrived at the top.

She set off right on time, her boots crunching the dry leaves underneath her as the sun crawled into the great beyond. The mountain lingered ahead, quiet as usual, its pinnacle taken cover behind a cloak of mists. She strolled for quite a long time, following a path she had never considered taking. The way was congested, the air cooler with each step up, yet her purpose wouldn't ever falter.

As she climbed, the backwoods around her diminished, and the landscape became rough and steep. The natural hints of the town and birdsong blurred, supplanted by the creepy quietness of the greater slants. Once in a while, she assumed she saw something moving somewhere off to the side — shadows that appeared to move, trees that bowed in the windless air. In any case, when she gazed straight, there was nothing.

By late morning, Elara had arrived at a level. She plunked down to rest, taking in the view. The town seemed to be a toy model from here, minuscule and delicate in the tremendous scene. She could see the streams winding like silver strings and the timberlands extending far into the distance. Briefly, she felt an ache of uncertainty. What's happening with her? The mountain was not intended to be gotten over. However at that point, the draw of the culmination returned, more grounded than at any other time, and she shoved her questions to the side.

The path from the level developed smaller and more slippery. The stones were sharp, and the way twisted steeply upwards, with drops so sheer that one stumble could mean a lethal fall. However, Elara proceeded, her heart beating, her legs igniting with the work.

As the evening wore on, the mists over her thickened, and the air became cold and slim. She was sufficiently high now that the world beneath appeared to be far off and stunning, the town lost in the fog of fog. Her breath came in shallow wheezes, however she was unable to stop. The mountain appeared to be watching her, testing her, trying her to proceed.

At sundown, she arrived at a restricted edge that stuck to the side of the pinnacle. Here, the breeze cried, and the virus was bone-profound. Be that as it may, Elara felt something different — an energy, a presence. It was like the mountain had been hanging tight for her from the start.

She gazed upward, and there, scarcely noticeable through the twirling haze, was the highest point. Only a couple of additional means.

With shuddering legs, she climbed, her fingers scratching against the cool, harsh stone. The air felt electric, and the mountain appeared to beat underneath her feet. She could hear her pulse reverberating in her ears, quicker and stronger, mixing with the breeze's thunder. The highest point was so close at this point.

At last, Elara pulled herself over the keep-going edge and remained on top of the mountain.

Yet, rather than win, a bizarre quietness fell. The breeze halted. Her general surroundings turned out to be completely still. Elara turned in a sluggish circle, taking in seeing the immense, perpetual scene. In any case, the view wasn't what held her consideration.

At the focal point of the culmination was a stone special raised area, old and worn, encompassed by spiked rocks. It appeared to be awkward like it had been left there by something — or somebody — quite a while in the past.

Before she could completely comprehend how the situation was playing out, the ground underneath her shuddered. Elara tumbled to her knees, gripping the earth, and unexpectedly the narratives her dad had told her as a youngster overflowed her brain.

The mountain was alive.

A profound, thundering voice consumed the space, however, it came from no specific course. It reverberated inside her, shaking her bones and soul.

"You have come," it said.

Elara's breath was trapped in her throat. She glanced around, yet there was no other person. Simply the mountain, old and huge.

"Why?" the voice inquired.

Elara battled to track down words. "I expected to comprehend," she murmured.

The mountain appeared to mull over this briefly, the quiet extending perpetually.

"You have come," it rehashed. "However, not all who climb return."

Elara felt a chill run down her spine. Yet, before dread could grab hold, the voice talked once more, gentler at this point.

"You will return, yet at the same not unaltered. The mountain has seen you."

And afterward, similarly, as abruptly as it had started, the voice was no more. The breeze returned, wailing around her, and the world appeared to breathe out.

Elara stood gradually, her heart hustling. She didn't have the foggiest idea what had simply occurred, yet she knew one thing for certain — she could never go back.

As she started her plummet, the mountain watched, quiet again.