Springby
BarbBComment by K3Master: At the end of their hope when despair came to call, they turned to her in a desperate plea for help. They turned to her even after they had shunned her. They turned to her even after they had turned her away because of the powers she had. Because of the gifts. They turned to her because there was nothing more they could do, and lives were at stake and their very existence was in the balance.
Yet even after all they had done, all they had said to her, for every horrible deed that was their shame that had been visited upon her simply because she was different, did she turn from them herself, then?
Not her. They came to her, and she smiled and bowed her head, and agreed to help them, for that was her very nature. Indeed, it was part of her very gifts, and powered them and let her do what she needed to do. So it was thus that she went out, in a ceremonial white, and began to dance. A dance of offering, of giving. A dance of asking and honor and hope. A dance for the giving of life in the form of the rains that they so desperately needed.
For days she danced, and as she did the skies grew dark and the clouds swirled over-head. As she did the droplets came, and built into the torrents that fed the soil and healed the dry and cracking lands. Through it all she danced. For days, while the earth soaked it all, and the grasses began to grow, and the rivers began to run once more.
Then, as quickly as it had began, she slowly spun to a stop, and the clouds parted, and the sun began to shine, and she, in her gossamer gown that remained as dry as it had when she began, spread her arms and walked off into that very sun as it set upon the horizon, and they never saw her again.
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