feet, and woven cloaks, and sandals and sticks for fighting. The valley listened as the sound of chanting rose and fell, and the kumara cooked.

Then ships had arrived. Ships with huge white wings, and creaking ropes. People had come slowly off the ships, carrying all they owned on their backs, or on wagons; climbing the cold crater sides and pausing at the top to view the wide, green land.

And then, when the time was right, two boys had come and pushed the rock. They never knew any other time or place. They never stopped to consider.

So many different stories could have been told.