Tribal Stories: Water

She laid wide awake, staring at the stars. There was no way of telling what time it was, but she was certain it wouldn't be long before the sun would rise.

In the days since the last sand storm, she hardly slept. The days were long as she worked alongside the desert people, and as night fell, she would lay her weary body down but her mind wouldn't stop.

She thought back to the critter's last visit only days ago. As usual, they hardly said two words to each other and she quite enjoyed the few moments of comfortable silence.

"You need to start making preparations for the southern lands, you know," he finally said.

She sighed. She knew he was right, but with the recent change of landscape in the desert, all that occupied her time was making sure that the desert people could resume their way of life as quickly as possible. But the side of the story she had yet to admit was that she was afraid of the uncertainty about the days ahead.

Her mothers and grandmothers taught her that the way to work the ground was different in every land, and that she needed to learn new ways again as she arrived in the southern lands. And even though her gypsy friend had told her the ground in the southern lands was rich and fertile, it provided no answers for how or where to begin. Besides, she wasn't to live in the southern lands by herself, but how would she begin to gather people?

"The ways may be different, but people are the same," the sages once said. "Where there is water, people will come."

She laid awake that night, mulling over the words of the sages. They made no sense to her. Her mind went back to the conversation with the critter.

"You're a collector of stories," he had said. "That's where you need to begin."

She knew that full well, and if she were honest, it was that which frustrated her most. In the journey to the southern lands, she had filled so many other roles that she was getting weary and easily irritated. Yet she knew that there were no stories that could be collected until the crops were growing and the people began to have food.

Suddenly it all made sense. She was a collector of stories, and having other roles to fill didn't change that. She would continue collecting stories as she worked the land, and she would speak about the water to begin gathering the people.

She fingered the rocks she held in her hands as she recited the familiar words again.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."
"Love your neighbour as yourself."

As the sun's first rays began to illumine the sky, she whispered words of blessing and thanks for her mother and mothers, and her grandmother and grandmothers, for the sages, for her tribespeople, for the critter, for the village people, for the gypsy, and for the desert people. She knew their words of blessing had gone before her to the southern lands and they would carry her the rest of the way. Most importantly, she gave thanks that the forces held them together.