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At the point when the sun rose, eleven-yearold R.S.Elderberry removed from the indirect access of his unpainted wooden house as though he’d been shot from a cannon. His anxious evening of holding up was finished. He was anxious to start his quest for the revelation that could completely change him. He ran so quick that he was twenty feet away when the screen entryway applauded shut behind him. A foggy fog loomed over the intensely lush slope local area of Wood Creek Holler. Wearing ragged soled, used tennis shoes R.S. ran down the rosy, dew-saturated carport to the fundamental street. The street wound its way from the level land underneath to the mountain top above. He turned right and made a beeline for the culmination.