Leif's eyes shot open as he fell out of his hammock and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“By the four! What are you doing up there?” Shouted a gruff voice.

Leif sat up and rubbed at his head before shouting back, “Sorry Folke, I fell out of my hammock!” All he could hear in reply was laughter coming from downstairs. Grumbling to himself while working his way up off the floor he started to get ready for the day.

Most of Leif's clothes, well most of his tribe's clothes, consisted of the colors silver and white because all but the footwear were made from the silk of the fruitweaver spider which produces different colored silk depending on the fruit it eats. The fruit that is common and unpopular to eat by his tribe and was chosen to be fed to the spiders was the pale berry which was sour and the shimmer fruit which shimmered in the sun but tasted bitter.

After putting on a simple white shirt, silver pants, and some reed-woven shoes he climbed down the ladder that led out of his room.

While Leif was considered tall to most, Sitting in front of the hearth was a huge man who made him look small and could be easily mistaken for Leif's father due to their similar features but was instead his Uncle Folke. They both had pale skin, green eyes, and black hair- though Leif had long hair that ended at his shoulders while Folke was completely bald except for a large mustache that curled out past his face.

Spotting Leif a large grin spread across Folke's face, “Enjoyed yourself this morning did you?”

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“No,” Groaned Leif while taking one of the other seats in front of the hearth, “I had the same dream again, the one about the elder telling me and a bunch of other children the tale of our people. Every time I see the look on her face at the end I just want to get away from her.”

While Leif was talking the grin slowly faded from Folke’s face, “I’m sorry you've been having this recurring dream. It sounds like you are worried about the trials, but I cannot offer you any reassurances. You know it is forbidden for us to talk about them in great detail.”

“I know Folke, and I would never ask you or my parents to break the trust of the tribe like that,” Leif said with a sigh, “Have you heard anything from my parents this morning?”

“Not from your father,” said Folke with a look of relief at the topic change on his face, “but your mother's pilgrimage is apparently taking her to one of the other Tide Walkers, though her letter did not say which one.”

“Oh well, I hope they have safe travels,” Leif said. His parents had been called away on a pilgrimage a couple of years ago and had not returned since. While his mother wrote often his father seemed to forget for months at a time.

Before Folke could respond they both noticed a smell in the air. It was very faint but it smelt sweet. It took them a bit to notice, but when it finally clicked what it was their eyes widened and they both ran for the door as fast as they could.

“I thought this was not supposed to happen for another month!” Yelled Leif.

“Its not!” Yelled back Folke as he ripped the door open.

Outside was in complete chaos as people were running out of their houses and down the path that would lead them out of their valley and towards the closes edge of Denali’s shell which happened to be his head.