The trinkets they brought were nothing short of miraculous...fabrics in colors we had never dreamed of, gems that sparkled in the dappled light that fell between the leaves. We were all entranced by the things their wagons contained, and grateful especially for the herbs we had never seen which spared the life of our Elder Yawahn, Martjfa. Our village took on a festival atmosphere, and the garden tending and other chores fell by the wayside over the three days the traders stayed with us. When they left, trailing behind them a stream of broken branches, we had no idea of the impact they made on our futures.

Along with the trinkets, they brought stories. To many of us, they seemed like fairy tales, of the kind Elder Yawohn Slofka told us in between lessons as children. But to some of us, the dreamers, these stories were more than stories...they were beacons. One of those dreamers was my sister, Jaxdia.  Jaxdia had always been one enchanted by the possibility of there being "more" to life than what our village offered. The visitors confirmed her beliefs. From the moment they left, she spoke of nothing else but traveling to the city and seeking adventure. A rift grew between she and my mother, culminating in Jaxdia's fleeing in the dead of night to seek her future. My mother was devastated. Of all of us, Jaxdia held the most promise for our family. My mother had had her own dreams, small though they were, and Jaxdia's leaving utterly shattered them.   She has never been the same.

As the eldest of the children, the motherly tasks fell on my shoulders when my mother took to her bed. I learned quickly how to stretch a pot of soup over two days, splint a broken limb, wash and stitch every thread of cloth we had. I resented my younger sister for sacrificing my life for her dreams; I became surly and bitter towards everyone...turned away friends, even family. My mother's health improved, and consequently so did my own situation, when tragedy struck our village. The herbs only temporarily healed Elder Yawahn Martijfa; she passed into the next in the summer of the year following the visit of the traders. It was a rite of passage for us all.

I had been a special student of the Yawahn. Though my knowledge was limited to her own, still I knew more than the rest of the village of the special skills needed to heal small injuries. When Yawahn was close to the next, she instructed the people of my village to mend the rifts among them...to accept this new way and adopt it into our culture before it destroyed us. After her death, several youth were chosen to learn what we can and to bring that knowledge back and teach the others. I was one of them, as were my brothers Corvey and Raama.

I have yet to find my sister in this larger world, though I have met many who know her. It has come to me that she may have gone to the next, but that knowledge is too painful to listen to in the current form of rumor. I would hate to think that our last words were spoken in anger, so until such time that I have proof of either life or death, I hold out hope....