So I didn’t cry when reading this. It was dust…in my eyes and throat.
Long, long ago, my kin began to tell stories, passing down the history of our kind from dam to pup. This is the Long Memory of our kind. Your kind have it too, but more and more, you forget how to look within and read what is written there…
One story tells of when the world was still young and cold winds brought the ice that bites and freezes. Food was scarce, the pack was hungry and the old and the very young were failing. My ancestors saw the glow of fires, warm against the snow and drew close. Hiding in the shadows outside the camp, they watched as you cooked a deer and fed your people. One by one, they watched you curl beneath your furs and fall into dreaming until none remained wakeful save one young boy.
He sat motionless, leaning on a spear and gazing into the…
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Sue Vincent said:
Apparently there was alot of dust when we tried to read it to my son…just ask Nick 😉
This is the most beautiful story. Yes, I cried.