Post by hedgie on Sept 19, 2010 20:59:16 GMT -6
((For my English class, we had to write a creation story using Native American literature as a base. This is mine, and i figured posting it here would be a good idea to get comments and feedback.))
A long time ago, too far back for anyone to remember clearly, the world was mostly water, with a small tone island at the top point. Upon this island was a cave, a small thing barely big enough to hold Wolf-Mother and her young offspring. There was no other life on the island, but the small family needed no food, for they were no ordinary canines. They were spirits, two gods left on the earth with the globe as their kingdom. As the pup, Mar, grew older, he would walk the edges of their small island home, the matte gray sky above him, with the flat gray waters lapping at the stone-colored shores.
Everything was gray.
His mother was gray, the sky was gray, the water and the ground gray. Even he himself was gray, right down to his nose and his toes. Mar returned to his mother one day, fed up with the bland world they had been given. Like any mother, she tried to comfort her son, but the pup would not have it. Giving in, she led him back to their cave, into a deep, underground portion that he had never been allowed to explore before that moment. Hidden in a crevice was a long, forked branch, with a green leaf hanging off one of its' twigs.
Mar was instructed to take it, as a tool to bring color and life to the world. "Run," his mother told him. "Run across the waters. The places you go, as long as that branch is with you, will spring up with life. I am too old to make this journey. You must go, and paint the world. And so he ran, right off the edge of the island and into the water. He was sure he would drown, but he didn't even sink at all. The moment his paws touched water, the branch and the leaf skimmed against the liquid surface, and a strip of solid land sprung up behind him, growing continuously. He ran for days, years, and what seemed like millenia, dragging and lifting the stick as he went, land spreading out when the leaf touched and lakes, streams, ponds and oceans forming where the stick was lifted.
After hundreds of years, he fell to the ground and slept, muzzle white as snow with age, the branch still clamped in his jaws. He woke to his mother's voice. Mar had passed on in his sleep, his job finally done. From the spot where he had finally come to rest, plants and animals and all living things sprouted.
This was how the world came to be.
A long time ago, too far back for anyone to remember clearly, the world was mostly water, with a small tone island at the top point. Upon this island was a cave, a small thing barely big enough to hold Wolf-Mother and her young offspring. There was no other life on the island, but the small family needed no food, for they were no ordinary canines. They were spirits, two gods left on the earth with the globe as their kingdom. As the pup, Mar, grew older, he would walk the edges of their small island home, the matte gray sky above him, with the flat gray waters lapping at the stone-colored shores.
Everything was gray.
His mother was gray, the sky was gray, the water and the ground gray. Even he himself was gray, right down to his nose and his toes. Mar returned to his mother one day, fed up with the bland world they had been given. Like any mother, she tried to comfort her son, but the pup would not have it. Giving in, she led him back to their cave, into a deep, underground portion that he had never been allowed to explore before that moment. Hidden in a crevice was a long, forked branch, with a green leaf hanging off one of its' twigs.
Mar was instructed to take it, as a tool to bring color and life to the world. "Run," his mother told him. "Run across the waters. The places you go, as long as that branch is with you, will spring up with life. I am too old to make this journey. You must go, and paint the world. And so he ran, right off the edge of the island and into the water. He was sure he would drown, but he didn't even sink at all. The moment his paws touched water, the branch and the leaf skimmed against the liquid surface, and a strip of solid land sprung up behind him, growing continuously. He ran for days, years, and what seemed like millenia, dragging and lifting the stick as he went, land spreading out when the leaf touched and lakes, streams, ponds and oceans forming where the stick was lifted.
After hundreds of years, he fell to the ground and slept, muzzle white as snow with age, the branch still clamped in his jaws. He woke to his mother's voice. Mar had passed on in his sleep, his job finally done. From the spot where he had finally come to rest, plants and animals and all living things sprouted.
This was how the world came to be.
