New Classic Press

Every year, around mid-to-late August, it suddenly got cool in the mountains. Even after the sunrise, the clouds lingered in the high country, refusing to budge. On most days, I loved the clouds for how they transformed the mountains into a beautiful scene straight out of a fairytale. But when it was my turn to keep watch, the clouds couldn’t be more troublesome. You saw that person on the mountain road over there? He was already so close, but we still couldn’t make out who he was.