The man who has come before, his eyes seek the land before him, the bright light he has seen before. The trees swallow up the valley below leaving only a whisper once a river. His name is Aritianmene. He lays back a strand of hair over his eye then gives a gasp, much stronger than anticipated. "Oh joy, it has risen!" And so it has; the suns of yesteryear's light has shone once again and he is free, and he is yet again alone in the encompassing bode.
Aritianmene stands tall on the mount in which he has straggled, but a face all too dark watches from below. The long talons of a bird, NO, a beast unknown. He waits.