Tales of The Primordial Dawn

I was shaken awake by a loud sound at the entrance of our hut. My eyes snapped open, and I sat up groggily. It was still early, the sun was just starting to rise, casting long shadows across the room.

My younger siblings, Maeve and Zulu, stirred awake too, their eyes blinking sleepily as they looked around in confusion. Our mother, Aisling, wasn't in the hut. She was probably still working in the healer's hut, I figured.

"Who's there?" I called out, rubbing my eyes as I pushed myself off the floor.

"It's Mako," came the reply. "Are you ready, Tak?"

I got up quickly, my sleepiness suddenly replaced by excitement. I quickly glanced at Maeve and Zulu who looked at me with curious eyes. "What's going on, Tak?" Maeve asked, rubbing her eyes.

I bent down and ruffled her curly hair. "Go back to sleep, Maeve," I said gently. "I have to go get some clay."

Zulu was looking at me with wide eyes. "Can I come too, Tak?"

I shook my head. "Not this time, Zulu. But I'll show you the clay when I get back, alright?"

As Zulu nodded, I walked out of the hut to find Mako waiting for me. Behind him, I saw Lorn, Isha, and Eamon, all of them with baskets strapped to their backs, ready to set off.

"Good morning, Tak," Mako greeted me with a nod. "I trust you slept well?"

"As well as can be expected," I replied, stifling a yawn. "Are we all ready to go?"

"Yes, everyone's here," Mako confirmed, turning to glance at the group behind him.

Eamon, his fiery hair hidden beneath a hood, gave me a nod, his lively hazel eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. Isha smiled warmly at me, her dark, almond-shaped eyes reflecting the morning sun. Lorn, with his graying hair and authoritative posture, gave me a look of approval.

"Alright, then," I said, turning to face the group. "We have a long day ahead of us, but if we work together, I believe we can accomplish a lot. Are you all ready?"

A chorus of affirmatives met my words, and we set off after I grabbed my basket.

We walked at a steady pace, our footfalls the only sound breaking the tranquil silence of the early morning. The cool air was tinged with the scent of damp earth, a reminder of the rain that fell the night before. As we progressed, the trees gave way to more open terrain, the dense forest thinning into a scattering of bushes.

As the morning wore on, Lorn fell into step beside me. "How much further is it, Tak?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

"Just downstream," I replied, gesturing vaguely ahead. "It shouldn't be more than two hours away."

The group slowed, exchanging confused glances. "Two hours?" Isha echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion. It took me a moment to realize my mistake. They didn't understand the concept of time as I did.

I quickly corrected myself. "Sorry, I forgot. Let me show you something." I unfastened the small leather pouch at my side and pulled out the sundial. "This is a sundial," I began, showing them the contraption. I planted the gnomon in the ground and turned the dial until the shadow cast by the gnomon aligned with the current position of the sun.

"This tool tells us the time based on the position of the sun," I explained, pointing at the shadow on the sundial. "See these markings? They indicate the hours. When the shadow moves to the next marking, it means an hour has passed."

Eamon looked at the sundial with keen interest. "So, when you said two hours..."

I nodded, catching his train of thought. "Exactly. We will walk until the shadow is around two ticks down," I clarified, pointing at the specific markings.

The understanding dawned on their faces, and a murmur of appreciation rippled through the group. With this newfound understanding, we continued on our journey.

The early morning light caught in the motley array of color within Eamon's eyes as he looked at the sundial once more. "This would be handy on a hunt," he mused aloud.

"And for scouting too," Isha added, her dark eyes flickering with a spark of admiration.

"That's the plan," I agreed, as I tucked the sundial back into its pouch. "Each group should have one. We can plan our movements better, estimate how far we've traveled, or determine the distance to our destination based on the time it takes."

I paused, letting my gaze sweep across the verdant expanse. "Once we're accustomed to using it, we might even undertake expeditions to explore more of our region."

Lorn, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke. "Sounds like a solid plan, Tak. But we would need a lot of hands for such a journey."

Isha's lips curved into a thoughtful smile. "And a sufficient supply of food and water. Unless, of course, we plan to hunt and forage as we journey."

The conversation quieted down, each of us lost in our thoughts. After a moment, Eamon asked the question that had been simmering at the back of his mind. "Tak, how did you learn to create such a thing?"

Before I could answer, Isha interjected, a playful light dancing in her eyes. "It's because our Tak is blessed by the ancestors."

I chuckled, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "Maybe," I conceded, "But there's also a lot of observing, questioning, experimenting, and failing. The ancestors might guide us, but it's up to us to do the work."

A couple of 'ticks' down the sundial later, as I had explained, we arrived at the clay deposit. The sun was now higher in the sky, its warmth seeping into our skin and the terrain around us.

"This is it," I declared, pointing at the earth-toned mound glistening slightly in the morning sun. "Get as much as you can carry. We need every bit of it."

Confusion knitted Eamon's brows together as he examined the pile of clay. "Why can't we just use the mud back at the tribe?" he asked.

"This is different," I explained, bending down to pick up a handful of the substance. "See the color? This clay is denser and holds shape better than ordinary mud. That's why it's perfect for making...well, for making a lot of things."

While everyone began filling their baskets, my eyes scanned the area across the river. The last time I was here, I'd spotted some strangers, but they were nowhere to be seen now. A part of me felt relief, but a tiny thread of curiosity about their identity still lingered.

Lorn's voice broke my train of thought. "Are we using this to make more sundials, Tak?"

"Yes, among other things," I replied, my mind already filled with potential projects that could benefit our tribe. Pots for storage, bricks for building stronger huts, even small figurines that could serve as children's playthings or sacred totems. The possibilities were vast, almost overwhelming.

As we toiled under the sun, scooping up clay and packing it into our baskets, a sense of camaraderie filled the air. There were no words needed as we all worked towards a shared goal.

The sun continued its ascent, casting longer shadows behind us, but we were undeterred.

With our baskets laden with clay, we turned our backs to the deposit, marking the start of our journey back home. Despite the additional weight, a strange lightness permeated our spirits, and even the relentless sun couldn't diminish our shared enthusiasm.

As we trudged along the river, Isha and Eamon struck up a conversation behind me. The two often had playful exchanges, their youthful spirits injecting energy into our often grueling workdays.

"I bet you couldn't carry two baskets at once," Isha challenged, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Well, I wouldn't want to show off," Eamon retorted, his voice tinged with amusement. "Besides, we wouldn't want you feeling inadequate, would we?"

Their banter brought a smile to my face. It was refreshing to see our tribe members maintain their spirits and sense of humor despite the hard work we were subjected to regularly. It was these small moments that made our toils worthwhile.

Ahead of me, Lorn broke the comfortable silence that had settled between us. "Tak," he began, his voice slow and thoughtful. "The sundial... it's remarkable. But how did you come up with it?"

I turned my gaze from the path to meet his questioning blue eyes. "Well," I began, considering my words, "I guess... I just observed. I noticed how shadows changed with the sun's position, and one thing led to another. It wasn't an instant revelation, Lorn, it took time."

His nod was more of understanding than simple acknowledgment. "You have a keen eye and an innovative mind, lad. That's a rare gift."

As the landscape changed, the tribe's boundary stones coming into view, Eamon, who had quietly observed the scene, piped up, "You know, Tak, I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm beginning to understand why you're always off on your own, exploring. The world's a lot bigger than our hunting grounds, isn't it?"

I gave him a knowing smile, "You have no idea, Eamon. But hopefully, with things like the sundial, we can start understanding and exploring it together."

The conversations ebbed and flowed as we made our way back home.

Our return to the tribe was met with the familiar, comforting sights and sounds of Ashaya life. The soft chatter of elders sharing tales of the old days, the sizzle of meat roasting on the fire, the playful shouts of children engaged in some make-believe game.

Leading my fellow tribesmen to a clear patch of land just a stone's throw away from our huts, I asked them to unload the clay. The weight lifting off our shoulders felt symbolic, like we were not just unburdening ourselves of the physical load, but also of our old limitations.

As the baskets were emptied, creating a mound of clay, I could see our path illuminated clearer than ever before. It was as though we were standing on the threshold of a new era, an era shaped by our shared wisdom and ingenuity.

I turned to Eamon who was dusting off his hands, a satisfied expression on his freckled face. "Eamon, can you fetch Joran for me?" I asked. "I promised him I'd show him how to make the sundial."

His vibrant eyes lit up at the mention of the sundial. He had been rather taken by the device during our journey back. "Of course, Tak," he replied, giving me a firm nod before departing towards the heart of our tribe.

With my fellow tribesmen off on their respective tasks, I was left alone with the mound of clay. The cool, grayish matter was coarse beneath my fingers as I scooped up a handful. Adding a bit of water to it, I started kneading, feeling the clay yield under my touch, growing soft and pliable.

I molded it into a round base, then added a pointed stick in the middle, just like the one in my sundial. I set it aside and began shaping another, the repetitive task soothing in its monotony.

When Joran arrived, his burly frame cast a long shadow over the mound of clay. His raven hair glinted in the afternoon sun, and his piercing blue eyes sparkled with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. It was infectious.

"Show me, Tak," Joran said, his usually assertive voice humbled by anticipation.

So I did.

We began with the base. I took a handful of clay, added some water, and started molding it. Joran mirrored my actions, his muscular hands struggling to achieve the gentleness required. He fumbled, laughed, tried again, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was a skilled craftsman with stonel, but clay was a new medium for him.

His first attempt was chunky and uneven. But he was undeterred, immediately scooping up another handful of clay and starting over. His second attempt was better, the third even more so. As the sun made its slow descent, Joran’s proficiency with clay began to emerge. By the time the orange hues of the evening sky began to bleed into the indigo of the night, Joran had successfully crafted a sundial that could hold its own next to mine.

Pride glowed on his face as he inspected his creation. He looked up at me, his blue eyes shining brighter than ever before. "This is... Thank you, Tak," he said, a rare display of vulnerability flashing in his gaze.

He paused for a moment, then asked, "Do you mind if I use some of this clay for my craft?"

I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips. "Go ahead, Joran. I plan to get more soon anyway."

With a nod of gratitude, Joran took his leave, carrying his sundial and a small portion of clay. As I watched him go, I felt a strange sensation - a mix of accomplishment, satisfaction, and a twinge of pride.

With Joran gone, and the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon, I made my way home. I had one more task to do before the day ended.

As I stepped into my hut, the earthy scent of the thatched roof and the familiar warmth embraced me. In the corner, nestled among my possessions, was a wooden mold, expertly carved with a series of rectangular shapes. It was a gift from Yenar, our tribe's late carpenter, designed for molding bricks. I ran my fingers over the smooth edges of the mold, a pang of loss hitting me as I remembered Yenar's kind smile and steady hands.

As I walked back to the mound of clay, the brick mold in my hands, the tribe's evening activities continued around me. The comforting hum of the tribe, my tribe, played a soft melody as the first stars of the night began to twinkle. I knew then, as I knelt down before the clay, that this was just the beginning of a new era.