We arrived in the night and negotiated a puzzle of stones and logs to uncover the key to Kalinga. Quietly closing gate after gate behind us, we contorted the car along an unmarked path, deeper into an imagined wilderness.
We sidled passed a wheezing gum that bore the scars of an earlier attack by Petra the Tree Slayer. Petra wasted no time fetching his axe and hacking at the defenseless myrtle, avenging the torment of his previous encounter. Panting with rage, he scooped up the eucalyptus blood seeping from the amputated limbs, smearing it across his heaving chest and down his sweaty cheeks - a reminder to all aspiring obstacles, not to cross his path.

They topple like old ladies up in these rocky hills. Maybe it's a good excuse to die? How could they decide amidst such beauty? Perhaps this place is hell for a sheep.

The setting sun ran away with most of the blues before we could reach our summit, but no one complained. The sky and the hills and the river and the trees burned purple and pink and Jedrik in red glowed like a burning ember.