Yaret walked, obeying the only call he cared to heed, that of his heart. Today, it called for the mountains. As he walked deeper into the wilderness, the trees changes from white birches to golden pines. The early morning light poured through the forest canopy, long beams of light stretched between the tall pine trunks like rolls of transparent cloth on a giant’s looms. Up and down the hills he went, climbing so high he could see the peaks breaking through the clouds in the distance, then running downhill, sinking in the mist over the heather-covered peat bogs of the valleys. Higher up the pines gave way to spruces. Yaret’s sharp eyes could discern each needle, but if he squinted and looked through the thick curtain of his eyelashes, the needles began to sparkle like in winter, frosted to a crystalline clarity. Then, with a little turn of mind, he could see the world differently, as if lit with a powerful backlight, the same way a solid green leaf reveals an intricate lace of veins when held against the sun. And then, beyond the usual bird song and insect buzz of the warm summer day, he could truly hear the forest – the glorious harmony of the silver strings, the music of life force that saturates every living thing.