It has been nearly four whole moons since I arrived at this peak, and my shift as caretaker is almost complete. I have no doubt I will return for a future shift: the experience has been overall wonderful. This is a special place, one whose wonders are even more rare for the uniqueness of the ecosystem in which they are found. Awaking in the summitlands of this mountain, one might imagine it a desert, or some far-northern tundra landscape. The expanse of rocks and grassy pools feels more like an illustration from a textbook than like any real sort of place. It is so different from anywhere else, and raised above so that it sits like an island in the sky. It could be that this was what early explorers described when they told tales of heaven at the end of some long travel.
The summitlands are not heaven, though they do come close enough in many cases. They have inhabitants, mortal as you and I, going about small lives in the rocky meadows and hidden places. Delicate gardens abound on the ledges, giving proof that this is no desert either. The permanent inhabitants of such an intrepid place have done well over generations to tend to the gardens and lawns, preserving any species of plant that can succeed in these conditions. At the times when the storms blow, this zen-garden village shelters in its holes, locked firmly against the howling wind. Such vicious weather has struck this peak in my time here that I have understood the persistence of local religious beliefs. I have mentioned before in this journal about the complex belief structure that permeates this mountain community but the feelings become much more simplified in the raw face of a storm. A part of me shall be glad to see trees reaching far above my head once again.
When the days are clear however, this place is a sort of paradise. If it were not for the trials of the everyday, I might have thought once or twice that I had truly passed on to the other side. It makes me wonder at the difference in worldly perception between those who reside here full-time and those who only come for a short visit. Sometimes during my days as caretaker I have met with people who have come from one of the valley cities on a sightseeing trip. It only takes a few days for them to reach this spot. If they have a well-equipped repulsar vehicle, it is relatively easy for them to transport themselves to a wholly different ecosystem. I wonder if they can see how special it is; how unique its energies are. I am not the best reader of energy, not coming close to some of the scholars I've met up here on their retreats, but I can tell when a place is this powerful. Whatever this place is called, Seat of the Moose, or Seat of the Lion, it has long drawn people to its lofty rocks. It will continue to do so, pulling me back again in time. It will be good to return: I have not yet finished exploring the numerous crevices of the open summitlands. Each cave and secret meadow is a hidden treasure. Some are remote enough that they do not even have a hermit cottage to tend to them, or the dwelling has been long-since abandoned. What do the hermit sages seek up here, and would I even know if I found it as well?
There was a set of siblings that came through today, bound for the north. They did not stay, intending to make for the Northwind Inn tonight, but we shared some conversation and I found them to be delightful company. The two brothers were a jovial pair, resourceful and weathered by their experience on the road. They shared stories from the peaks down south, relating the natures of various summits. They said there had been some bare and open to the sky, but none quite as grand as this one. I myself, have heard of only two other mountains in the larger range with open tops like this. One of them, Mt. Abrahim, featured in their stories. They spoke of the community there, the types of sages they had seen, and of a gorgeous farm they had stopped at for lunch. At this, one of their traveling companions perked up, saying she had probably seen them at the time and hadn't remembered. The coincidences of the road are always a treat.
In addition to the brothers' sister, they seemed to be traveling with two other companions. One was a scholar, probably from the Queen City metro area by the look of his dress. The other though was a young woman who seemed close to the scholar and was likely an apprentice of some kind. At first it confused me to think that they were together with the three siblings because she had such a different air to the rest of them. The scholar at least seemed normal, for his kind. He was kind, but held a fierceness in reserve that revealed a shrewd and learned mind. The girl (though she was probably not much younger than myself) however had an unnerving potency about her. There was an inner fire that seemed to gently bubble under her surface, manifesting through her intentions and actions. Even I could sense her difference, but the others, if they did, seemed not to pay it much care. I have not often felt that way around another person, and I wonder how much she feels of that fire. What do people do with their power once they know that it is there for the using? Where will the world take this young woman, and perhaps more importantly, where will she take the world?
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