Nugget in his pocket, he set to running down the thorny path, jumping over fallen branches and gnarled tree roots. The mountain sensed a piece of itself was missing, a piece it considered crucial, a piece which if misused could hurt it, so it took one deep breath and gave its hardest to stop the thief from escaping.

The hunter ran, his own garden a shimmer in the vale below, while treetops lashed back and forth above his head, rocks hitting the ground like thunders, exploding into dust. He swerved off the path, missing a boulder the size of his head by a hair's breadth. Diving into the forest. Dark, suddenly, the roiling clouds all but hidden by the thick canopy of leaves. He ran, dancing around tree trunks, and the forest shook off a scourge of worms and caterpillars. He yelped, brushing the pest off his shoulders or head.

Downslope, diagonally. Three boulders fell in quick succession around him, the last one skirting his back. He froze. He was a bug scurrying down a giant's back, while the giant was jumping, slapping with his hand.

He took in his surroundings for a moment, one arm covering his head, then continued, going upslope a bit, before running back downhill in big strides, stumbling, feet slipping on mossy ground. Clutching the nugget of gold in his pocket.

He came out onto a glade, which was now a mess of broken branches and leaves and scattered rock and dirt. His garden and home seemed too far away. As he took a step, the ground trembled, and he watched a crack appear between his feet, lengthening. The mountain ripped a seam, ripped itself apart, a gaping hole in which the scattered branches and storm clutter dropped, but he'd jumped to the side at the last moment and now ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the cold breath sharp in his throat, panting, jumping left or right as many mouths yawned open for him.

Hail pelted him, the rivers, the bowels of the mountain carrying filth and mud down its side, overran, filling up the holes in the earth with gooey quicksand. He went around them, eyes squinting, running in jumps and pirouettes toward his home.

His foot caught in a jutting root, sending him rolling down the steep incline. When his roll was stopped by a rock outcrop, and he finally got back on his feet, coughing and spitting out dirt, his head was spinning and there was a screaming pain in his ribs, but he picked up his pace again, clutching his side, and soon the trees became sparser, the slope slowly leveling out until his feet were on the even ground of the plain, his mansion waiting up ahead.

*

Only when the hunter got to the gate of his garden did he glance back toward the mountain, which now seemed impossibly far away, wrapped in a coat of thunderheads. He watched it awhile, gasping for breath.

Limping to the plot of earth he'd prepared for the nugget, the creatures depicted on the crystalline surfaces staring at him with bated breath. He knelt. His whole body was trembling like a leaf, but he found strength to dig with sore hands and bury his catch.

When finished, he gently patted the topsoil.