Little Goat Mountain the poem that took place of a mountain

Ocra didn’t know where she was going. She knew she had to get out of the forest and into the openness because she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her shoulder hurt, throbbing with each step she’d take and eventually, with a new searing pain, she’d been thrust out into the open. There wasn’t much space for her to go as an incline begins, the sound of clacking in the distance, but it didn’t matter. It was open and cool and free. Her breathing had become ragged and she’d nearly collapsed beneath the weight but after a few staggering steps, she searched the base of the mountain into she’d come across a small cave she’d be able to take refuge in for the night.

She had to lower herself to the ground to fit beneath overhang but once she made her way in and determined it wasn’t occupied by another being, she was able to make herself comfortable and plop down for the last few hours of the night. She moved to rest a way that took the pressure of her shoulder and she didn’t have to wait too long before exhaustion whisked her away into slumber.

The girl doesn’t move from her spot until morning when a sliver of sun illuminated the opening of the cave. Her limbs stretched and she twisted, finding it easier to move her shoulder in all directions. She picked herself up and took a step, then back, and flexed it to only feel a little soreness lingering. With nothing damaged and one less thing to worry about, she squirmed her way out of the cave into the open, feeling the sun shine down upon her face. The tree line of the forest stood in the distance, and an opening off to the side, and with no interest to return through the way she’d come, she decided to explore the base of the mountain a little while longer.