Oh how carefully the fingers move along the soft skin of the earth. Passing once with gentleness, twice with force, and three times with tears. And now ice blue water runs and has run and is running through the grooves left by these fingers. The ice blue water feeds the cattle downstream, runs softly through the charcoal-green floodplain and gains energy before joyously springing into a large, serene lake.
The ice blue water has met thousands upon thousands of stones millions of times. Stones small and dark and polished, stones burnt and orange and jagged and brittle. Stones large and black and heavy. Stones that have seen blood, and had blood washed away.
The stones remember everything.
The river remembers more.
One stone tells the story of lying peacefully still, only to be struck suddenly with thunderous force. He sat, quivering, moving slightly as the head of the antelope shook and thick crimson blood pulsed forth, draining from the animal, onto the stones, into the river. He waits for the wolf to complete his kill, ivory teeth pulling against sinew and ribbons of flesh.
The other stones remember and agree that this particular wolf was perhaps the most noble and terrifying of his kind. His fur was near black, with a grey hood that spread from his eyes back over his head before fading into his jet black torso. The river reminded the stones that this wolf brought some of that antelope to the Man from the Forest, and the Man from the Forest fed a whole village of children from the stew he made.
The river reminded the stones that they found the wolf, pierced for sport with three arrows, enjoying one last, cold drink at the banks of the river. The wolf asked the river to carry him toward the lake because the wolf had many fond memories of bright winter mornings, running full speed and headlong across the glistening blue ice, never more alive than when he hunted an antelope and delivered victory and more days of life for his pack.
The river cried to lose the wolf, but did as requested, carrying that heavy, now lifeless body toward calm waters.
A jagged, olive stone, covered in moss, asked if one of the hunters of the wolf was the one he had killed.
No, the river said. That happened much longer ago.
The stone asked to hear the story, and the river waited a long time before answering.
The stone asked again softly, and the river took a deep breath and began. The river told him of the brothers that camped by the shore. How one brother had always cared for the other, brought him the best potatoes and saved the choicest cuts of meat for him, and sometimes went hungry if there wasn’t enough to eat so that his brother would be full. Some of the stones remembered being encircled and made to guard their fires, warm memories to pass the thousands of years of cold.
The river reminded the stones of the beautiful daughter of the forest who sang bright and yellow songs in concert with the birds and the morning sun, and all the stones smiled and shared whispered appreciation of her beauty. The river reminded the stones that the generous brother cared for the daughter of the forest before all others, and wanted nothing more than to build a home and a life with her. He brought her flowers in the spring and built her fires in the winter. And her smile was for the generous brother and him alone.
The hungry brother also saw the beauty of the daughter and asked his brother for the girl. His brother quietly told him that this was not his to give. And the hungry brother begged and finally the generous brother grew angry and downcast, but agreed that he would ask the daughter of the forest if she instead could find favor in his brother.
The brothers lay down under a starless night, beneath a sky of black clouds.
But the hungry brother did not sleep and watched with his hungry eyes until his brother was asleep and then he took the jagged olive rock and broke his brother’s head and face against the ground he slept upon.
The stones beneath the generous brother wept.
The hungry brother left his brother lay on the cold, ashen ground. And the stones tripped the murderous brother and the river recoiled from him but the hungry brother laughed and sneered and did as he pleased. And try as they might, the stones could not carry the generous brother to the river. They cried out and pleaded, begging and even screaming. But for a very long time, no one came.
But the land joined the stones in crying out and brought the wolves of the forest to carry the bones of the generous brother to the banks of the river, and the river washed the bones carefully for ages.
Some time later a young girl heard the weeping of the jagged olive stone and brought him to the river and placed him carefully in the ice blue water.
The ice blue water washed the jagged olive stone as the stone begged forgiveness from the bones for ages more.
The river swelled. The river receded.
Countless men and women moved the jagged olive stone even though he had not finished his apology.
The moss agreed to cover the stone to hide his shame, for the stone did not want to remember his color any longer.
And the river was kind enough not to remind him.