a one-horned goat; a mythical creature similar to a unicorn, except it’s a mighty mountain goat with an ever-revolving mobius strip serving as its single horn.
Once upon this one time, there was an Indigoat.
And this indigoat did what all indigoats do: It traveled the world seeking sheer cliffs and towering peaks as it climbed and it leaped on its star-shaped hoofed feet.
For just as squirrels gather nuts and bees build a hive, indigoats jump and climb every day they’re alive.
It’s what they live for and how they are built. They jump and they climb, and they leap and they rise, until they reach a chasm that makes them pause and think twice.
For some peaks have puzzles where there should be a plane, and its an indigoat’s purpose is to make the leap all the same.
One day, as the indigoat lept along, it felt the earth shake, followed by an avalanche of earth that left no doubt the landscape had changed.
Following instinct, the indigoat changed course to investigate.
What the indigoat found was a glorious sight: a new peak—sheer as death—that had formed overnight!
In all its days, the indigoat had never seen a puzzle so daunting, and stopped in its tracks to keep its sure feet from faulting.
At first glance, reaching this new summit seemed an impossible feat, yet indigoats were born not knowing what “impossible” means.
So the indigoat found a great spot with some grass and a view before taking a quick nap to dream up what it could do. Yet the dreams didn’t help and it awoke with no clue.
Once awake, the indigoat gazed at the peak up ahead. Then a squirrel came along, shaking its head.
“Can you believe it?” the squirrel gawked. “Have you ever seen such a peak? Even birds who approach it have yet to land on their feet.”
And as the indigoat gazed up at the summit with its compass-shaped eyes, it understood how a bird might get lost in its flight. For the formation was a bit mystical—like a tunnel into the sky.
At last, a true challenge, the indigoat beamed, entertaining impossible thoughts. For it knew there must be a way to land securely on top.
“Wolves and scavengers are gathering at the bottom,” the squirrel said. “It quite a buffet where the climbers’ bodies plummet.”
Sure enough, the indigoat saw vultures and ravens circling near the base on the new mountain, and knew four-footed creatures must be also be there in abundance. And it knew the longer it waited, the more creatures would die. For it was an indigoat’s purpose to mark the path of great heights.
Yet it couldn’t jump until it saw the plane of a path, so it settled on eating a breakfast of grass.
“It can’t be done,” a hawk said from high in the sky. “It’s like an abyss with no bottom in sight.”
And the indigoat saw what the hawk meant, even as it knew that could not be true. For no peak was topless—as a jump would soon prove.
So the indigoat spent the day hopping around, seeking a spot that would be good starting ground.
“It hopeless,” an ibex said as it made its way down. “There is no way to go over. We all must go around.”
Next came the humans, with their spikes and their ropes, and those who didn’t fall packed their bags and went home.
“It can’t be done; move along,” a doe said at the dawn of a new day. “There’s a lush, relaxing valley just beyond the horizon. Follow me! I know the way.”
Yet the indigoat declined to join the doe on its path to smooth green, for valleys of bounty are not an indigoat’s thing.
Instead, it climbed and it climbed with its eyes trained on the same summit in the sky.
“Turn around,” the hawk said, banking east in its flight. “This peak cannot be touched. Trust me, I have tried.”
Yet the indigoat climbed and it lept until it came to a spot where the peak came into focus on the ledge of a precipice.
“Scavengers await!” the tenacious squirrel said. “All who have jumped have ended up dead.”
Yet the path was now clear, even if the incline was steep. It would require the bravest of hearts and the longest of leaps.
“Don’t jump,” the hawk said as the indigoat anchored in star-shaped feet and locked its eyes on the now-distant peak.
“I’ve never feasted on indigoat before,” a vulture said, flying by. “Today is my day to watch one drop from the sky!”
Yet the indigoat said nothing—just kept its eye on the prize. And when the pathway was clear, leapt to the other side.
And nailed the landing—precarious as it was.
For a few serene moments, the indigoat took in the sublime view. Then it grew impatient to move on in its route. For now that it had gotten up, there was the whole issue of getting down, and on the sheer face below footholds were few to be found.
“I can’t believe it,” said the hawk as it circle around. “You made it! And now I see how it can be done.”
Soon the hawk was joined by other fowls circling around. And as they made their loops, the indigoat spotted a path down.
So it made its descent then bounded on to the next mountain.