Long before the pyramids of Egypt were conceived long before the first stones of Stonehenge were dragged across the plains a mountain touched the sky in the Land. We Now call the Pacific Northwest, it was a peak of unimaginable height. The ancestors called the spirit of this mountain, Lao the chief of the below world. for Generations, the The Earth was quiet until the summer the mountain woke up, it began not with a roar but with a Whisperer a deep vibrating home that rattled. The marrow in the bones, young Hunters, tracking elk through the high Alpine Meadows noticed at first A strange bitter sent in the Wind. Brimstone then came the silence, the birds stopped singing. The Crickets fell dead silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath down in the valley and Elder named awake. A Sat by the central fire. He watched as a massive black bear, lumbered right through the edge of the village, it didn't look at the drying racks of fish. It didn't bare its teeth at the barking, dogs. It was running running blindly away from the peak behind the bear. Came the deer, then the wolves predators and prey moving together in a unified silent Panic awake us, stood up his joints aching as he turned his eyes to the summit. A plume of violent bruised. Purple smoke was twisting into the otherwise, Clear Blue Sky. It looked like a dark serpent on coiling from the throat of the world, and then the Earth violently heaved. The ground didn't just shake, it rolled like a wave on the ocean trees snapped in half with a sound of cracking bone. The river, sloshed over their Banks. Turning the Lush. Valley floor into deep sucking, mud people, screamed children. Cried out as the cedar plank, lodges collapsed into kindling. The chief of the below. World is angry awake a shouted though, his voice was swallowed by the deafening, continuous Roar from the mountain, then the sun, simply vanished. It was high noon. But Twilight descended in a matter of seconds, a thick suffocating blanket of pumice and Ash rained down, it was hot searing hot it burned, the skin and choked the lungs run, run to the lowlands, run to the caves, the tribe fled into the absolute Darkness, guided only by the terrifying, blood, red lightning that cracked within the ash cloud above them. The heat was becoming unbearable awake at carried a young child. His legs burning his lungs pleading for clean air, but the air was entirely made of glass and fire. Then they heard the true voice of the mountain boom it was a sound so loud it ruptured the eardrums of those who looked back. A sound that would later be known as a blast 22 times. More powerful than Tsar Bomba the entire top of Mount Mazama. A peeking 12,000 feet into the heavens was instantly vaporized. Millions of tons of molten rock were blasted into the stratosphere awake up. Push the tribe forward. Do not look back. Do not look. He screamed over the Roaring wind but The globe behind them was growing brighter, a hurricane of glowing red-hot Avalanche. A pyroclastic flow was racing down the slopes at 100 miles an hour. Incinerating the forest instantly, they burst through the tree line coughing up, Ash only just Screech to a sudden halt before them was the Great River Gorge, but the bridge of Fallen trees had been utterly destroyed by the earthquakes behind them. The Roaring wall of fire crests the ridge the heat blisters awake us back the screams of the tribe are drowned by the Thunder of the earth tearing itself to Pieces awake. A looks down into the churning muddy of the river. Then turns back to the Towering wall of absolute destruction, to sending upon them, he closes his eyes.