

Pakamagayo Valley nestled between green hills.
The river once sang; now it is silent. Crops browned.
The elder said, 'Awaken the song stone.' No adult dared to go to that mountain.
Naira packed, whispering, 'Maybe courage is just walking, even when your knees shake.'

Naira parted jungle vines. A hornbill landed: 'I am Hontutu.' 'I'll guide you,' he warned, 'the mountain echoes fears.' 'Okay,' Naira said, 'I'll step anyway.' They climbed; leaves whispered.

At a dark cave, whispers hissed, 'Too small.' Naira said, 'Small steps reach.' A broken bridge loomed. Trembling, she knotted vines; Hontutu steadied. At a mirror pond, she smiled, 'I can do this.'

At the peak, a cracked song stone waited. Naira touched it and sang her mother's lullaby. Light bloomed; the river below sang again. A calm voice said, 'Courage lives in those who try.' Villagers cheered when Naira returned.