Way of The Pride

16| The Birthright

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Igala Village
Spider Mountain
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Drops of rain trickled down his body consuming him in its brutal cold. The act of breathing became hard as gusts of wind flew at his face. A hollow feeling occupied his chest, it was like the air itself was being drawn out of him.

Or maybe that was the feeling of a broken heart.

Like a coward he ran.

Agada had no destination in mind. All he knew was that he had to run as far away from his home as he could. He could barely see anything in the rain but that did not stop him from jumping over backyards, into the market square, and then weaving his way out of the village square.

If the villagers saw him running through the rain he would have been mistaken for a mad man. The truth was that he felt like one. Who would not be driven to the brinks of insanity when his entire world has changed.

The need to run consumed his thoughts fuelling his legs to pick up the pace. He just wanted to escape from it all, the truth staring him in the face and the burden of knowing.

He wished he never knew.

He ran out his emotions, his anger and bitterness flying away with the wind. He ran as the scenery changed from the flatlands into forests. He ran until he could no longer, past olden trees and over fallen logs. He ran until the ground began to harden under his feet. Only then did he stop to look up.

Spider Mountains.

It was as the name suggested. From the rocks to boulders, the mountains in the region all had cracks in the shape of a spider's web. The story behind it was that a huge battle once occurred amongst the gods in the heavens. Amadioha himself was so enraged he unleashed his powerful lightning and in the heat of the battle huge stones fell from the stars. The evidence of his anger engraved itself on those stones and that was what formed the mountains of this world.

Nobody knew how true it was but it was the story passed down from the forefathers of their era.

Spider Mountain was a place that bore many good memories. He played hide-and-seek with his friends in childhood, ran up the mountains as a boy and scaled through them as a man. The mountain was in his blood, the scars and old wounds on his flesh bore its imprint. No one knew the mountains like he did, every tree and curve, every rock and the secret caves were engraved in his mind.

He was heading for one of those caves.

The skies were still dark and the rain continuing relentlessly. He had been running in the rain for a while now and his body was already starting to shiver. He had to find shelter fast.

He took a sharp curve to the right which led him to the quieter end of the mountains. Flat rocks and thick boulders took over the territory as he climbed and leaped his way forward until he arrived at a crossroad. The trail on the left descended into a slopy and uneven ground, home to the oldest trees in Isimir. It was a territory hunters liked to visit for its abundant game. A cluster of rugged mountains high and wide as the eyes could see loomed on the right, a dead end.

To most people but not him.

They were hidden grooves, grooves he painstakingly dug up the mountain since as a little adventurer. He began to climb up, following the trail of moss, until he finally reached an opening the size of an large drum. With the last of his strength he pulled himself over the ledge and into the mouth of a cave.

Exhausted from the strenuous climb, he paused to catch his breath as he observed the state of his shelter.

The mouth of the cave jutted out shielding the entrance from the elements. The inside, small and no larger than his room, stank of bird faeces and old dust. Everything looked as he left it, cobwebs on the roof, a pile of dry wood stacked at the corner and a basket of dry fur he brought from his last visit.