The road out of town was a narrow dirt track. On one side the road dropped away down the mountain side, on the other a stone wall stood head height holding back the hillside above. Four children were prancing and dancing down the road, the sun was high in the sky and a soft but steady wind blew into their faces. Up ahead the grass was moving like the waves of the sea. The children were siblings and cousins. They were happy to be in the sun out of doors.
The village they had left behind was an assembledge of old buildings, they were all made of stone. The village was empty except for one old women who poked her head out an upper window, she didn't appear to notice the children. The woman looked as old as the mountains. The towns name was Estana.
The road ended at the grassy plateau, there was a pile of boulders adjacent the grass field, a path led through the rocks and up to a summit, the children scampered up to the top of the pile of rock. They stood together four abreast facing the wind. Their hair blowing, their young faces beaming. They were "King of the Mountains".