“Tshidi, Tshidi, please say they’ll come back soon?” pleaded Lala. Tshidi pulled her sister close and took a deep breath. Though the dragons had long since departed the Lone Mountains, the smoke of their despair still filled the sky like the clouds. And every night without fail Lala climbed the crags, sure-footed and nimble-fingered, as far and as high as she could in the hope that she would see the stars again. But the cloudy smoke – the suspended anguish of her departed friends – rendered the cosmic lights invisible night after night.
Lala cast her voice, oo-wee-oo, into the haze in the hope that she would hear more than just an echo; that she would somehow reach past the clouds to where the dragons had sought refuge and comfort and where their sorrow was willing to meet her remorse. She was convinced the dragons could hear her call, the oo-wee-oo, that ricocheted off the rocks and pierced her own heart as it returned – unanswered.
The valley folk had long since given up and settled for the days and nights they now knew. The fault was always theirs and the damage was theirs to repair. Tshidi was Lala’s only encourager in the hope for a restoration of what they had once had.
Until that restoration the valley folk would be reminded – by the starless night sky and the ever-crepuscular days – of their transgression that had driven the warmth and light and joy from their midst.
Tshidi’s caution on that fateful day still stung: “Forgiveness does not come in an instant. And unlike people, dragons live forever.”
The truth was that the dragons would return when they were ready and forgiveness was forthcoming. And Lala might be waiting and climbing and calling a long while yet.
Oo-wee-oo