What made it special was the fact that it was there. From horizon to horizon nothing could be seen to justify its old existence. A wide plain, devoid of mountains, hills, or rivers; nothing interrupted its monotony and in its heart a bridge. The children of the village had grown up to know its presence and never did they even only think of climbing to its top. The Bridge was simply there, bothering no-one, noticed by no-one.
Until to a daughter of the village were born two sons.
One of them (was he the older one?) looked like his mother's best friends' children; the other one looked like the light of stars. Him the Bridge did fascinate, and then, one night - outside his hut he lay, counting the empty spaces that span between the stars - he realized he had to see his world from up above, from high up on the Bridge.
His brother (was he the younger one?) tried to dissuade him from this plan. Tradition, said he; and man has never gone there, said he; and what did he expect to see there, from up above, said he. But never did he win him over. Desire turned into decision, decision into duty and finally, after many years (now both of them were old) duty was fulfilled. Dawn saw him climb the Bridge; between the pillars stood his brother, waiting. But he who dared to rise, did not return before long times had passed. On the Bridge he stood, looking hard into the distance, looking hard into himself, hearing the wind and breathing in dust.
Light of Stars.
He turned around. He found his brother sleeping down below. Waking up, he asked what he, the Other One, had seen. Long was the silence, until, reluctantly, the answer was brought forth. I saw, said he, so much. I saw