THE CHOICE by Mark Curl Prologue The young man walked down the mountain path that ran alongside the torrent stopping occasionally to look at a point in the distance, down in the valley, which was still immersed in the morning fog. He was descending the mountain with the naturalness of someone who was familiar with the area and who was aware that the early hours of the morning possessed fragrances and colours that would no longer be the same once the sun started to warm the ground. The rustling of the torrent was louder than all the other sounds in.
