Black Snake watched impassively as the crowd receded into the distance, having heard every whisper outside the temple.
He knew they were going somewhere far away.
But he did not understand why. None of his many questions had answers; human affairs were always too complicated.
After that day, Black Snake noticed a change. Those entering the mountains to hunt and gather herbs were old people, women, and half-grown children. He had not heard children laughing in a long time.
In the blink of an eye, late autumn arrived.
Dead leaves nearly buried the stream. An occasional crow gave a couple of cries, making the scene all the more desolate.
Black Snake sensed moisture gathering. Rain was coming. Autumn rain was still rain. It was a little chilly, but if he did not absorb it now, he would have to wait until next year. No being picky.
He climbed the mountain in advance, heading up early to prepare rather than waiting until the rain came.
At the summit, he gazed delightedly at the charred old stump, hoping more lightning would strike this mountaintop.
In truth, few bolts struck it over an entire year.
Even when lightning came, most of it struck elsewhere. Precious little fell within his reach. Such things could not be forced-unless there was some way to draw all the surrounding lightning over.
His tongue caught the moisture carried on the wind. Instinct told him a torrential downpour was coming.
He lay still and waited patiently...
The village in the small basin.
The villagers spotted a party of more than twenty people leading a dozen or so Packhorses downstream along the river. From far off, they shouted trade jargon, claiming to be merchants who had come to buy mountain produce and sell everyday sundries.
The villagers were wary. In