The man’s face seemed frozen in time as if aging had ceased. Galli’s mind was alight with curiosity. “I am Galli, Düka of the Grö-Orose.” He said in his mother tongue. “Galli of Grö-Orose.” The man repeated, “It is good to finally make your acquaintance.” The silver lion spoke in an unfamiliar language, yet somehow the words still found a seat of meaning in Galli’s mind. Before he could ask anything else the stranger spoke again. “I believe I am meant to go there. There is something there I must find. The desert walker’s eye wandered to the peak of Mt. Attrid barely visible in the distance. A hushed murmur descended over the hunting party. Mt. Attrid was cursed, many people from all tribes have lost their lives trying to ascend it, each one driven by a legend that told of a gateway to the god’s realm waiting at its peak. “There is nothing there but isolation and death.” Galli said in a certain tone. “Then perhaps that is what I am to find.” The man replied.