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The greatest mountain

Like other people I am fond of travelling to beautiful places. But I have one distinguishing feature. I prefer travelling on foot to traveling by car or by plane.

 
This summer our company of about 35-45 people decided to explore the Crimea Mountains. It is well known they keep many legends and sagas.

We passed through many interesting places of interest and heard a lot of amazing stories. But most of all I liked the legend about the greatest mountain, which name is Demerji. Long time ago conquerors-nomads and hordes gushed to the Crimean lands. Like fiery lava they were descending around the mountains and steppes, and the smell of burning and the smoke were behind them. The Crimean residents didn’t bend their necks; they met their enemies bravely. They killed a lot of uninvited guests. The further they were moving to the depth, the more guns they needed. They came up to the mountain, which was called ‘Fuming’ by the residents. The surrounded people were famous as smiths, and so many handymen gathered in the villages. The masters of warlords gathered around the mountain and were looking at its top with admire. It was tightened with smoke. And the senior warlord decided that it was impossible to find the better place for the bugle. He called one man who differed from the others and whispered him something.
At once he took some warriors and ten residents with him and led them to the top of the mountain. Since that the conquerors were getting the necessary guns. The man with a black beard, a blacksmith, was forging new guns on the top of the mountain. He built a giant smithy. The mountain was rattling all days long. At this smithy the guns were forged from such steel that it hacked different steel but stayed untouched. The conquerors killed everybody. But one day a young brave girl, who decided to stop the murders and slavery, appeared. At night she climbed up to the mountain, came up to the smith and asked to end tortures and go away. But he just smiled and killed the brave girl with the sword, which he had just made. One drop of her blood fell into the mouth of the mountain, and it made noise, not bearing such villainy. All the bugles were destroyed and the lava was gushing. All the conquerors-nomads died. And the peaceful residents were lifted high in the sky by the wind, and, when everything was over, they were put down back. The people looked around and saw their former mountain, but there was no smoke, and there were rocks in which it was possible to discern the smith with a black beard and girl’s head. Since then this mountain has been called Demerji, which means a smith in translation. I admire this legend, and what about you?