White mountain peaks lick the rusty, crimson sky, and the fiery yellow glare of the sun makes the snow coated mountains sparkle like magnesium set alight. Deep scars crisscrossed the mountains, created by milleniums of natural bullies tearing the mountains. As the sun begins it's final milestone in it's journey across the sky, it covers the mountains in a warm, orange glowing blanket. Slowly the sun sinks out of sight, and the moon begins to take it's place as the stars appear in the bruised, purple sky. As the sun's final light dies, the sky turns black like the depth of the deepest sea, and the stars come out of hiding as their leader; the moon, takes it's place on the podium in the night sky. The moon is bright and bulging, it leaks magnificent, silver light onto the mountains, the moon is the mountains nightlight, protecting the mountains from the predator; the night. The mountains lie still and quiet, they are sleeping, their radiant, snowy glow is turned off, like a lamp. These mountains that sleep, hold the secrets of their people, the secrets that are locked in their bones of ice. Deep within the mountains, kept in the cache of the mountains ribs, is the heart of the mountains and it's people. It is what keeps the mountains alive, it is what the people gave the mountains, it is what they sacrificed themselves for. The beating, thumping, pumping heart of the mountain, is the peoples' secrets', it is the people's death and the mountains life, it is the secrets locked in ice.