The Rising of Kima

Long ago, when the moon was young, and the sun had not yet risen for the forst time, a man walked under the stars. He had no name,
because there was no one to name him. He was alone. Alone he walked under the
dark trees; alone he climbed over tall mountains, the white snow glittering in
the moonlight. Alone he wandered through hill and dale. One day (as they were
measured by the moon) he came upon a babbling brook, and the sound of it was so
clear, so musical, that he laughed. He laughed long and loud, and it was the
first sound that had come out of his mouth in all his long life, or had it been
short? no matter, it was beautiful, it was happy. And still he walked, but no
longer in silence. He began to name the plants, and the beasts, and the stars.
The moon above he named Eleha, the watcher. The deer he called Forun, the one
who leaps. He named everything he came to, but still he gave no name to
himself. The great evergreen he called Drego, and the stream he named Ineste,
the singer. Many times Eleha waxed and waned, as he walked, naming and laughing
as he went. Then he climbed a mountain which he named Kelzad, the proud. As he
stood at the peak, the sky began to grey at the edges, and then, it seemed to
him as if the clouds in the sky were aflame, and from the horizon rose a ball
of fire that was so bright, he could not long look at it. At first he was
filled with great fear, because the only fire he had known was a destroyer of
growing things, he had named it Zethir, the evil light. But when he looked about
him and saw the beauty of the land revealed in the light, he rejoiced, and
called it Kima, the beautiful. Still he gave no name to himself, still he
walked, as Kima and Eleha danced far over his head, heedless of the passage of
time. Then, many years after he was walking in the woods, singing softly to
himself the song of the stream, which has no words that we know today, but was
rather the song that the stream sang, sometimes fast and bubbly, and sometimes
slow and winding. As he walked and sang, he heard another melody, joining with
his. The song of Drego, the one that he sang when the east wind was in his
branches. The voice sounded strangely like his own, but higher and clearer.
Curious, he walked towards the sweet, sighing sound, to the top of a hill encircled
by fir trees, and he saw there something he had never had seen before. There
stood a creature who looked like him, but not like him, slimmer and smaller,
with long, raven-dark hair, and a face finer and fairer than the reflection he
had often seen in the clear mountain lake. He looked upon her and laughed, and
perciving him, she stopped singing, and for a moment was frozen. Then she too
began to laugh, high and clear, fresh as the dew on the grass in the morning.
They could not speak to each other, but they walked and laughed and sang
together. And he called her Sihele, the fair one. When she had learned his
language, she called him Ruldan, the walker. For many more years they walked
and sang and laughed and named together, until everything had a name. Then,
high in a mountain forest, they built their home, Ruldan felled mighty trees
for their cabin, and Sihele wove fine cloth to keep them warm in the chill
night. The beasts of the forest were their guests there, and so they lived, man
and woman, who had watched the world wake up.

The End

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