The spine erupted from the world in jagged shale shards. Skeletal remains of the sleeping giant. Its toe—the foothills of our home. We live underground burrowing through its veins. Dirt pillows above the crust of grass and roots as we emerge from tunnels blinking and trembling beneath the blinding gold of an old god. Clouds towel off the morning sun and we breathe a sigh of relief in their shadow. We do not stay long. Exposed spaces make us vulnerable. We only wanted to smell, just for a moment, the clean sweet scent of streams and rivers. We only wanted to hear, even if we do not speak their language, the music of creatures of air. We only wanted to feel on our skin, even if it hurts, the burning eye of the world.