Bare Trees wasn't a great storyteller, she admitted. But one story she had heard in her travels, something that had struck her deeply and that she could never forget. And finding herself around these little fillies who stared at her and waited for her to speak, this was probably the one time she would do it.
"It was said -- " she lowered her head a little, breathing deeply and smiling a little as one little doe pressed against her side. "It was said that the first kimeti were grand and strong and large, but it wasn't always that way from the start." As she continued to speak she felt more comfortable, muscles relaxing under the gentle, eager eyes of the fillies.
"Long before one ever remembers in the swamp, a beautiful and grand stag and his mare bore children, their sacs vibrant and colourful under a big acre tree whose leaves were of silver and gold. They had five children -- little sacs like all of you were once! -- and all of them strong and clinging to the tree as they grew.
Except for the last one of the clutch.
While his brothers and sisters already seemed to be quickly developing, their movements in the sacs obvious that they would roam the lands strong and as leaders -- while this youngest of them all was small, pale and hanging for his dear life on the grand tree. The Stag and the Mare thought he would grow eventually! That perhaps he was just a little slower than the others, that he'd tear out of that stage of his life full of life and vigor. They believed in the MotherFather that they would bless this little child. But as time passed, the brothers and sisters grew into little foals with markings of gold, silver and one glittered like rubies, and another of sapphire.
But the smallest sac was still and unmoving for the longest time. As the rest of the clutch grew, played, ate, hunted -- he was still a sac against the tree. And the seasons passed, the harsh winter cold nipping and biting at the little one, spring with its bugs and bees peering curiously at the sac, summer with its scorching heat, autumn when the leaves danced in the wind and touched the swamp ground -- something that perhaps the little sac would never experience.
Seasons yet again passed, his brothers and sisters fully adults and going on their own journeys, his dream and his lifes journey barely starting. The Stag and the Mare grew concerned, perhaps it was time to let go.
And one day in the spring, particularly a time when the land was bare and no rains would touch the ground, the season seemed filled with no hope and sadness like the grand kimeti had felt. -- But the next day all of them found blossoms littering the ground, the tree where the sac had been was fully blooming, the trees glittering and dancing against the breeze.
As they looked on the ground of flowers, there the brightest most vivid flower laid awake, smiling up at them. He had braved the harsh seasons, felt his brothers and sisters move away, he had felt the emotions, but he did not lose hope. And that kimeti turned to be the wisest, bravest and strongest one of them all, blessing kimeti from all around the swamp and remaining humble, helpful and most of all hopeful."
Finally she had finished her story and looked upon the smiling faces, chuckling to herself. Storytelling was not bad at all.
