There is no earthly domain so near the divine as the unsullied land at the very doorstep of the gods: the mountaintop wastes and wilds. Peopled only by their “lesser” children — the ants and pikas, ravens and goats, lichens and heaths — this rugged landscape is a realm of brutal dimensions, yet so cherished that its soaring pinnacles are first and last kissed by the Sun itself each day. Emulating this ethereal glory, human mortals may mount their conquering quests, yet merely ascend — and depart — on peril of Icarian wings. They are too tender, too frail to endure the savage beauty of these lofty climes. They may but foray into this formidable frontier and quickly withdraw to gentler habitations. It is here, among the creatures persisting on the very edge of the extreme and the extraordinary, that the order of the cosmos is revealed. Behold, O ye who venture hither: the height of human and floor of heaven!