He was yayawar.
The mountain was high, the acme distant. It were cold winds that he felt against himself. He never felt the time, how long has he been climbing?
He loved heights, and distances. His love for them increased with the worsening of them.
The white flakes of snows were falling, lying all around him. Small, white, cold, light….
The cold was growing on him.
He remembered the last sparks he had left in his last camp. He admired them, they were lovely, they burned slowly, glowed warmly.. He had repulsion for fire, big fire. They were egoist, they would consume everything and yet want more, then spare none, anything that comes on their way.

Ah…the cold, the height, the distance.
Every step he took was becoming heavy. The snow deep, air cold and thin.
Ah….
God! He thought, why am I climbing?
Everyone fought over Him, some destroyed His idols. He believed in idol worship. Atleast somebody was solid. The people he met were hollow, deviod of substance, empty.
Ah God!...where is sun?
Suddenly it dawned to him he hadn’t seen it for long….to the bright one..
Was the pinnacle coming down for him? Or was he climbing faster?
Was the air beating against him? Was it fighting with him? He loved heights, but…feared them.
He reached there. It seemed to him he was in the ocean of whites.
Where was the cold? Where were his fears?

It was his dream, to jump from a great height. He knew he will never fall, he would start flying. The more the height, the better his flight. It never occurred to him that hard land was somewhere below him.
He was still thinking something….
They saw him, felt the cold, saw the height, felt the fear, saw…

And he…closed his eyes.