It was a small hamlet at the foot of a mountain, so small that everyone knew each other and they were all related within them. People there never cared about the mountain, they used its forests for tinder, and they were wary of snow-slides, but no one ever dared to go all the way to the cloudy top.
Olaf was different. Since he was a kid he had been attracted to the mountain, dreaming of the day he would make it all the way to the top. His parents told him that it wasn't worth the effort, that it was only miles and miles of mountain, that there was no reward on the top. Yet, he needed to see it by himself.
He grew up and became a lumberjack, so he could be closer to his beloved mountain. Everyday he would wander through the forests until the line where no more trees could grow, and he stared towards the peak longingly. Years passed like that, and he never dared to fulfill his dream. One night, he dreamt about the mountain, it was calling him, singing to him. He woke up knowing he had to go, so, that day, he packed his thickest clothes and all the blankets he could find and headed towards his love. He climbed all the day and when the sun set he still couldn't see the peak. He had to climb for three days to reach it. The view from there was breathtaking, he could see all the other towns in a fifty mile ratio. But he saw other things, too. Olaf saw higher mountains, sitting there, waiting for someone to climb them, for someone to enjoy the view. He never returned to his town, moving from mountain to mountain, from country to country, fueled by his desire to climb.
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