Listen, dearest children, to the story of the fire that ravaged the swamplands.
A very, very long time ago -- long after Reaches Far found the stars, but long before you or I came to be -- a long time ago, Kimeti lived in the swamps much like we did. They never wanted for food nor drink, nor companionship nor shelter. They lived in harmony with most of the animals within the swamp, and in harmony with each other. You see, the families back then were much larger -- youngborn Kimeti did not have to reach out and search to find others like you did, but were part of a family from the moment they were born.
It was a blissful time. And yet, despite all that they had, the Kimeti began to argue and bicker amongst themselves. They quibbled and quarreled, and at first that was all it was. Yet as time went on, families splintered and came apart. Young foals were left abandoned in the swamps, without the older Kimeti to protect them. Bucks who had loved their mates (for back then, such pairings were often life-long) left them with nary a word.
Soon, with the negative feelings swirling palpably through the air, fights broke out. This was a great oddity, for Kimeti are not particularly aggressive. The fights were not the scuffles of young Kimeti at play, but real fights, with intent to harm. And even stranger, they often occurred for little reason. A buck may have attacked another for eating food from "his" tree, yet one only had to move over a few paces to another to resolve the conflict.
It is not known how the strife started and spread, like the fanning of a flame, yet it is known how it was ended. One day, many Kimeti had gathered in one part of the swamp. I do not know what brought them there, but the ill feelings persisted, and another fight -- a full-scale battle -- was on the brink of happening. Although it was midsun, dark clouds covered the sky and cast a pall over the earth. And then the sky grew redder, and redder, and redder.
The Mother sent flames falling from the sky. The swamplands are wet, and fires are rare, children, and I hope you will never experience one. Yet on that day, everything burned. The Kimeti were forced to turn away from their grievances and help each other to survive.
The fires raged for a while, but our Mother is not so cruel as to burn her children and their homes. Soon after, she sent torrents of rain to tame the flames; she flooded the swamps to save the ground and those who lived on it. It is said that not many Kimeti were injured, yet afterwords there were less in the swamp than before. Some say there were Kimeti who escaped to places beyond the swamp, to elude the scourge that plagued the place. Others say that the Mother took the greatest trouble-makers -- the ones who could no longer be called Kimeti, so far had they gone -- into her embrace to heal their souls. Whatever the case, once the torrents of flame and water ended, peace was restored.
Many things changed. The Kimeti never again gathered in such huge families. Many chose to go off on their own, enjoying the swamp and its mysteries at their own leisure, and no one else's. We are still friends with the little creatures in the swamp, yet this friendship does not come as easily as earlier times.
Yet the most important, my children, is that we no longer take our swamp for granted, and strive to be peaceful, lest we disappoint our Mother once again.
