The two mountains had been arguing for as long as anyone could remember.
Mount Crag on the left.
Mount Drum on the right.
Between them, a valley where a small village had very sensibly built itself and tried to ignore them both.
The mountains argued about everything.
“My shadow reaches further,” said Crag.
“Mine covers more ground,” said Drum.
“I have better rock.”
“I have more snow.”
“My eagles are larger.”
“Mine are faster.”
The valley rolled its eyes. The valley had a lot of practice. 🏔️
🌧️ The Rain That Didn’t Stop
That spring, the rain came.
And kept coming.
For eleven days.
The river in the valley rose. Then rose more.
Then the villagers looked at their boots, which were underwater, and understood this was serious.
The mountain on the left had a great shelf of rock — the perfect place to divert the flood.
The mountain on the right had a wide channel carved into its base — the perfect place to carry the water away.
But they would only work together.
“You go first,” said Crag.
“You,” said Drum.
“I have better rock for this.”
“I have MORE rock.”
The water rose another six inches.
💛 Owen in the Middle
Owen was standing in the village square in rubber boots when the water reached the doorsteps.
Owen looked left at Crag. Looked right at Drum.
And shouted, as loud as possible, up at both of them:
“THE VILLAGE IS FLOODING AND I DON’T CARE WHOSE SHADOW IS BIGGER!”
The mountains went quiet.
A long, rocky, embarrassed quiet.
Then Crag shifted his shelf.
Grrrumble.
And Drum opened his channel.
Crrrack.
The water moved. Diverted. Rushed away down the hillside harmlessly.
The village was saved.
🏔️ A Different Kind of Big
Afterward, the mountains were quieter than usual.
“You did it faster,” said Crag, eventually.
“Your shelf held better,” said Drum.
This was, for two mountains who had argued for centuries, practically a love letter.
Owen listened to the silence between the peaks and smiled.
They’d figure it out.
Mountains are slow. But they get there. 🏔️