MSNPC Grenala – Sacred

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 ((The Tender’s Hut, Unknown Class M World))  

Grenala woke to the earliest golden rays of sunlight as she did every morning. The little window high on the wall in her small hut was positioned just right to let in the light from the sunrise onto her bed. Blinking slowly and stretching, the woman massaged her aching bones and muscles. Pops resounded in the small space of the thatched roof structure. She was getting old. It wouldn’t be too many more years before she took on a successor to teach these revered duties to.  Maybe just a year after that before she could finally rest her weary soul with the rest of her people. 

 

The valley her hut sat in was not far from the nearest village, maybe a forty-minute walk. The path however was inhospitable, as was much of the valley itself. Orange sand blew angrily each and every day in harsh winds while the sun beat heavily overhead. Nary a tree to be seen and with only a handful of scrub brush, the landscape provided no shade or break from the heat of the sun. This morning was no different. Remarkable only in the consistency of its remarkableness. As was her routine, like her mothers and grandmothers before her, Grenala swung her legs out from the bed and stood. Shakily at first, then once steadied, she strode to gather the morning’s things. The one room hut offered only the comforts necessary of her simple duties, but it was enough. Once dressed, she gathered a morning snack of dried meat and two large empty pots of water.  

 

With a flourish practiced by decades of identical mornings, the pots were affixed to a long pole and a shawl of thin white fabric was draped over her head before she strode out the wooden door and into the heat of the early morning day. It was important to gather the needed water early, for if she dallied much past the sunrise the small stream would dry. There was only once in the thousands of days prior where’d she’d been too late to the only source of water nearby. Not only had she gone thirsty, but so too had her sacred duty. Then she had been, but a girl, and an unnatural layer of clouds had obscured the sun and prevented her waking. Clouds she’d never seen before, nor since.  

 

It was thoughts like these that drove her, step by step, up the steep ravine from her hut. A powerful drive to never again miss the drying of the brook. Never again allow her task to go unfulfilled. When she’d finally reaching the small flow of water, barely a trickle flowing through a crack in the redish-orange rock, relief washed over her. Another day she’d made it. Unshouldering the long pole from her back, Grenala unlaced the strings affixing the jugs to either end.  Her cracked old fingers worked the leather quickly and she placed the first jug beneath the running water in the stone where an alcove had been carved for it so many generations ago.  

 

The stream was weak, but no more so than usual and she waited in the shade provided by the cracked stone while the jugs filled one at a time. As she rested the woman snacked on the jerky that was her breakfast. The next step of her journey was arduous under the weight of the full water jugs. Several hundred more feet of elevation to climb and at least half hours walk. Even with the early morning sun, the sand was already baking. And yet, it must be done. 

 

With her heavy load, Grenala trekked up the valley pass, the rocky shale of the long-worn path cracking under her sandals. Beads of sweat formed and fell until her shall was moist with the perspiration. Until she finally stood before her destination. A wide cave mouth, seemingly torn into the side of the barren valley wall. The darkness was stark, but her path was known, and the old woman strode inside unhesitatingly. The darkness was blinding, but as she blinked and adjusted to the light, objects resolved around her. Stalagmites dotted her path while some stalactites were so low, she had to squat to pass. And yet it was all familiar to her and she stepped through the obstacles as if they weren’t there.  

 

The relief from the sun was a restful respite but she knew it to be short lived. The walk inside the cave was quick and finally the narrow tunnel opened into a breathtaking oasis of life. A large chamber, easily three times the size of her hut, stood before her, teaming with green vines and bushes. Bright yellow moss lined the walls. The ceiling was cracked in a spiderweb of torn rock. Just enough of an opening to allow indirect light into the chamber. Enough to sustain these plants. Yet no water could be seen.  

 

Grenala, relieved to be free of the weight, unshouldered her load and yet again unlaced the heavy jugs laden with water. This was her favorite place in all the world. There was nothing else like thebeauty of the vibrant greens and yellows from this chamber. And in the center of it all, the largest plant she’d ever seen. The god-tree. Bright silver and gold. 

 

As was her sacred duty, Grenala set forth to watering the oasis of life.  

 

 

TBC 

 

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Grenala 

The Tender
E239702WG0
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