Arka’s boots gripped the mossy ground as it began to slope gently upward. Velvetide’s warm air drifted softly against his chest, carrying a freshness that made his lungs feel clean. The pine trees around him rose high into the sky, interspersed with strands of emerald-green hanging moss that swayed gently in the valley wind.
Arka wiped the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead with his jacket sleeve, then paused beside the trunk of a large tree. He unfolded his grandfather’s increasingly yellowed hand-drawn map across his palm. The black ink lines on the paper showed that, a few hundred meters beyond the row of rugged cliffs ahead, there was a natural rock cleft that served as the entrance to Lereng Angin.
Arka straightened the map, slipped it back into his jacket pocket, and quickened his pace.
Whoosh.
A warm gust swept gently through the gap between the hills. The rustling of pine needles echoed back and forth, like the soothing rhythm of nature’s music. Up ahead, the trail was cut off by a two-meter-wide natural ditch filled with a carpet of wet moss.
Arka didn’t slow down. He tightened the olive canvas backpack against his chest, took three light steps to gather momentum, and nimbly leaped across the ditch.
Hop!
Both feet landed smoothly on the soft moss on the other side. The springy, velvety ground absorbed the impact of his landing perfectly. Arka smiled faintly, feeling his body grow more accustomed to this place and fall into step with the rhythm of nature.
Before him now stood a magnificent ten-meter-high wall of rugged cliff. Rather than rising sheer, the old stone wall was covered with natural grooves and a thick network of pine roots that resembled a staircase built by nature.
Arka approached the stone wall. He tucked his folding knife securely into his pocket, then reached for the first root, which felt sturdy and dry. With quick, careful movements, Arka began climbing the rugged stone formation.
Step by step, he placed his feet on stable stone ledges. His fingers clung tightly to the tendrils of old roots, guiding his body steadily upward. There was no sense of urgency or anxiety. Every foothold felt just right, accompanied by the afternoon breeze brushing his back with gentle warmth.
Hop!
With one final, firm push of his foot, Arka lifted his knee over the cliff’s highest rim. He stood tall at the summit of Lereng Angin, brushing the dirt from his pants with his palm.
The view that greeted him above made Arka hold his breath.
Before his eyes stretched the vast and breathtaking Lembah Barat. The entire valley was covered in a carpet of emerald-green moss that reflected the sun’s golden glow. Across the velvet-soft field, the courses of small streams glimmered like silver lines beneath the clear evening sky.
Arka walked toward a large, flat rock at the edge of the slope. He took the olive backpack off his shoulders, sat on the warm stone, and stretched out both legs.
He reached for the stainless-steel water bottle beside his backpack, drank the clear water down to the last drop, then leaned his back firmly against the rock.
From the heights of Lereng Angin, Arka could see pairs of cawi birds flying across the treetops. The sound of wind whispering through the gaps in the cliffs washed away the remnants of the city noise that had filled his head for so long.
Arka took out his grandfather’s old brown leather notebook again, opened to a fresh blank page, and pulled a pen from inside his backpack compartment. On the lined paper, he began sketching simple lines—recording the curves of the cliffs, the expanse of the velvet valley, and the complete stillness he had just discovered here.