The protagonist of the film is not the man but the mountain, the Caucasus, Noah’s mountain, Prometheus’ (the fire thief) mountain, Gods’ home and the land of extraordinary silence. A huge crystal hive always disclosing itself differently in the breaks of the clouds, a “golden rock” lit with bonfires at night. We are in Azerbaijan, on the border with Dagestan: five stories, five tribal communities settled at high altitude, five villages, dotted with smoky roof ridges, hundred-windowed clay honeycombs. Places where a-thousand-year old language is spoken, where there are unbelievable sounds and where the soul lives in alert in a world of wind, stars and endless winters. The film is shot with minimum equipment by just one person who shares the everyday life of the village families. It unravels different intermingled lives thus drawing some plots that become polyphonic tales. It is the story of an old man going to the feast of fire and disappearing in the storm. It deals with a wedding party where men and women holding mirrors are dancing with the dead. It is the story of Tobia, a boy who on foot is crossing the silence threshold of his valley. It deals with the fool of the village who, like Christ, is looking for his one lost sheep; a final party, with only men dancing in the snow and where winter seals the story. It is a film with very long silences, little dialogue, where sound reigns and rumbles as in a huge loudspeaker, where every uttered thing has a sacred meaning and must be handled with the utmost care. It is a land of minarets, an Islam where the most sacred thing is still Zoroaster’s fabulous fire.