Relentless Inquiry

“It must be hard for you to be here,” he said softly. “Harder still for you to feel that callous children have ravaged your Mother's grave.”

She nodded, still huddled, hands clutching 'round herself so that the tendons stood out taut. The fire's light danced on the runes graven on his arms and chest, flashed metal in the pins and bars woven through his flesh.

“Our story is different. Our Mother *gave* us her bones, saying 'Know that I am in you and everywhere, and that all that you Are and all that you Build will be In Me and Of Me. Every field you till, every stalk you reap, every dolmen you raise, all In Me and Of Me. All that We Are, and Have Been, and Will Be is remembered in every piece of us.' To us, you are the children. She created this, our Home, and you will not explore it to discover her wonders.”

“Wonders? The wonder of flowering trees to be cast down in springtime, when another harvest could have been borne and a home built in the declining year? The wonder of seeing ghosts of the rainbow floating slick upon the water when the rains come? And for what? So that you can stand taller than your neighbor, and boast of your prowess?”

He cast his eyes downward a long moment. “The Mother also told us, 'Know that when you reach out to take without giving, to Act without Balance, you dishonor the Remembering and you dishonor Me.' The Mother's flesh is mighty. Strike her in need, in sorrow, or in anger, and she will hear you. Slap Her just to see the mark of your hand on her, and She will twitch and smite you. ” His voice grew troubled. “Some of us think that the echoes of the slap are still growing, and that if we do not reach out to Her Hand, it will rise in anger yet. This is why I was sent to find your people, and your Remembering, so that we may yet reach together and stay the Mother's hand.”