The black asphalt stretched for miles. The mountains, like a painting in the distance, walked toward the road. No matter how close the car came to the vast expanse of rising mounds, it never seemed to actually touch the road. The trees became more defined--they were like a green blanket that lay on the brown soil, hiding secrets waiting to be found. Some of those secrets belonged to Yorba. He never told the secrets hidden deep within the brush. They were his secrets that concealed the truth of his origins. Yorba hit the gas. The car lurched forward without care for who might be around.