A story with only a beginning. How do you think it should end?

Did you ever wake up with the warmth of the sun on your face, and manage to just catch the fading whispers of your last dream? For a second, it may have felt like you were still in the dream, even though you were awake. And what's more, you were sure you heard someone calling out to you.

You were right! That voice was calling you to the greatest adventure you have ever had. Most people have forgotten about the voice, but I think that call still remains in each of us, like treasure buried deep and forgotten inside the heart.

Once in a great while, a particularly wild soul will dig up the treasure. And wherever their story is told, there is hope that another bold spirit will awaken… and remember the call.

Let me tell you about one such wild one: young Cusi of the Moche Indians.

In the long ago town of Titsuyaanya, past the hills of Morinamwe "the land of the sun," an ancient road begins. It is a magical road, but the citizens of Titsuyaanya have grown accustomed to its sight. The smell of wet grass in the morning mingles with the dung of the llamas. “Earth’s incense to the sun,” they call it. The concoction is baked throughout the sweltering afternoon, hardening mud formed by a million hooves and feet across the endless pastures. Most folks accept it’s presence with a kind of familiar comfort.

Don’t ask them about the magic. They and their parent’s before them have been raising llamas here all their lives, leaving the village only upon necessity, and for as short a time as possible. They are content to stay and tend to the road’s beginning, living simple, beautiful lives, but never having any grand adventures.

Occasionally, the road brings merchants and traders from distant lands, offering every kind of foreign delight. Tiger and monkey skins, pottery and tools for cooking, noisy toys made from cedar and bamboo; but most importantly, strange tales of danger and mystery. These are the folks you want to ask about the magic.

Cusi could always be found among the children listening to the stranger’s stories. You could spot his big, dark eyes shining from the tales of heroic wars with mountain giants, bizarre descriptions of beasts that breathed fire for air, and vivid accounts of princesses so fair that one look from their eyes would turn the stone heart of a troll to clay.

This was how Cusi first began to feel the magic of the road. Dozing on the thatch roof of his family’s hut one afternoon after the departure of the latest visiting merchant, it occurred to him that he knew everything there was to know about where the road began, but nothing about where it ended!

“Maybe there is a great city at the end, where fair princesses keep magical beasts as pets. Or maybe there are mountains that I could climb and see the entire world from the top!”

As is bound to happen with anyone who is daydreaming on a warm, comfortable afternoon, he thought and he thought, until finally a long, dream-filled sleep overtook him. When next he opened his eyes, the thought of the road consumed him more than ever. So when he suddenly heard a strange voice call his name from below, he felt quite sure it was the road itself that spoke.

“Cusi!”