Ah Adanohedi Adasegogisdi Nigadv

Ralla · 12-26-2010, 11:01 AM

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Meh, not like I can complain Tongue The only reason I was up last night was cuz of three glasses o' caffeine XP (Disclaim: the tale is a tale of the Cherokee, and is not really a song. I imagined it as one o.0)

"I can relate to that quite well, actually. For the life of me, I can't remember herbs; what they look like, what they're for... It was a good thing I didn't become a Kunikoti. And really?" Another storyteller? Fantastic, she thought, eyes brightening. Amongst the moon, stars, and fire, songs and stories were Ralla's passions, and both could be as interchangeable. "Well, I'll make you a deal, Nian. I'll sing for you a tale if you promise to tell me one in return. That way, the knowledge you have I can pass down as well." It was a very traditional thing to do, in Ralla's mind. With a few steps around the fire, making sure all was stable and secure, she began.

"Fire is a gift that none could once imagine;
The People of the Sky sent it down.
With the drums of thunder pounding
And their cries of loss sounding
A great sycamore did the burning fire crown.
The Animal People saw it fall to earth and create smoke from where it laid;
A council was held to see who to fetch it would go.
White Raven did fly first to land
But stood too long above the smoke and
Came back scorched black like its brother Crow.
Next to go were the Owls--Hooting, Horned, and Screech;
But each came back hurting from the gift instead.
Hooting and Horned now had white-rimmed eyes,
From the ash that, too, flies,
And Screech came back with sight stained red.
When the Snakes returned dark as night, hope was too far gone;
Until the Water Spider stepped bravely to stand.
Her hair was already black
With red stripes crisscrossed her back
And so she travelled to the sycamore's water-bound land.
She wove a bowl of her web and climbed the burning trunk;
Although it scorched her, she continued on with might.
And when a coal was placed
In her webbed bowl with haste,
Fire became the Animal People's light."

Ralla had not sung that tale for a time, but Nian's expressed enthusiasm for stories had prompted her--well, she probably would've sung anyway--to do so without much prodding. Always would she be happy to do what all could partake in and what meant the world; celebrating a story. "So you see, Nian, although wolves are blessed by the moon, we could not reach the island at first, nor could we handle the fire. We owe this," she said, gesturing to the dancing embers, "to the People of the Sky and to the Water Spider. But we keep it and revere it because it was a gift to all the Animal People; our light in the darkness when the moon is hidden away."

Moon walks. "Moon talks." Moon thinks.

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