The entrance was sealed by a massive stone door carved with musical notes. In the center was a hollow shaped like a bird’s beak.
He was about her age, with messy black hair and eyes that held the stubborn glint of the mountains. He was standing on a rock across the small ravine, holding a slingshot. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at a wild orangutan swinging on a vine above his head.
The valley was saved. The land was declared a protected forest. And Nenek Sihir was hailed not as a fugitive, but as a living legend.