The boys wake early that day; the plan is to tackle the path beyond Crystal Falls. Sneaking out of the house before the sun even touches the Nicomen Mountains, they race along on their speeder bikes, through the back streets. They dodge Imperial troops, until they reach the mouth of the path. On the other side of the falls is the real beginning of their journey. They hide their trusty steeds a few yards off the main path they will walk until it ends or the world does. Backpacks full of rations, the three boys head North. After a while the Summer Sun disappears under grey clouds, the leaves seem to slowly change to reds, and yellows. They are Cowboys rustling cattle, or thwarting bank robbers. When they stop the first time, the colours give way to frozen puddles, and a light snow. It's the apocalypse, a nuclear winter; they forage and make forts of felled logs. Popping out into light rain; the ground is soggy, their feet become soakers. They are G.I. Joes on Recon; sticks as guns they survey the land. Rocks are grenades. They save the free world. Before long the sun reveals itself, again. It warms their skin. They stop for a second time, remove their wet clothes and dive to the bottom of an ocean; They are Skin divers. Searching for sunken ships, treasure, mermaids. One climbs a tree and touches the sun and the others whoop and howl like Indians, dancing around the base, clapping hand on mouth, feather in hair. They find an outcropping of dirt, a millions miles high; they jump and fly. Skim the ground and scare a deer and her fawn that came to witness the wonder with a wary eye. But then a voice calls out from the trees, between gusts of wind. They try to ignore it, it comes louder. Louder still. Calling their names. Pulling them, pulling them away. And it all fades. They slip out of their Space suits, they head home to their Mothers. Their Fathers. Their homework. Their chores. Another day conquered.