Who Is the Face in the Mountain?

Stoic. Cold. Alone. He did not chose this fate. She once whispered his name into the wind. Her voice was a song to which only he knew the words. And they were together. That was all that mattered. But the nights grew colder, and older, and longer, until one day she could sing no more. How she wanted to stay. But another song called. If she left, she could live and thrive along with this new melody. He begged, and pleaded, and cried. But she had to leave.

He held on to hope that she’d return so they could sing together again. He waited. And waited, and waited… until his heart turned to stone and his bones turned to rock. His hope grew and grew. And so did he. Stoic. Cold. Alone.