A living mist trapped sunrise sunlight and wisped red on the hill's summit. Long brown autumn grass quivered in the thin light from base to glowing peak. A small caribou slowly climbed the hill with fat noise canceling headphones over his tiny ears. He was listening to a Scottish-Canadian rock band that favored lengthy bagpipe and electric guitar solos. The music, said Caribou, is definitely perfect, but it would be nice if there were a chairlift to levitate me up this hill.
Caribou crested the hill and sat down. Feeling inspired by the music and the view below him, Caribou began to sing. No one ever heard whether that his voice was hoarse or clear because at that moment the loud clack and rumble of a helicopter dusted away the his voice with wind and sound. The copter swung low and Red Squirrel repelled down, landing beside Caribou.
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