It fell into the shadows below, where it disappeared from view. The man was peering over the edge, and had attuned his hearing to the Kerplunk! of the bucket meeting the surface of the water below. After a moment's pause, he raised it again--dragging the bucket's twine rope up, with both muscular arms. When the bucket's handle was within sight and reach, the man grasped it, and lifted it up and out. The bucket was full to the brim with water, spilling over the side in gulps. Tying the rope to the knob of the forked-frame, he let the bucket hang. Walking back to his tent, he disappeared into its shadowy inside.
Returning less than a moment later, with a carved cup in hand--probably clay, judging by its shape--and made, once more, for the well. Dipping the cup into its contents, he returned with a cup full of clear, shimmering water.
It's damn near lucky that I found this well, he thought--and would always think when he dipped his cup into the water; somewhat similar to a prayer. It's too fuckin lucky that I found one of dem Old One's water sources, too damn lucky. And no one else knows about it... which is good. VERY good...
The man drank the water in small, short droughts, as if to savor it. After draining one cup, he returned to his hut.
***
Chief Mandalla Splitskin, chieftain of the northern Tribes of Tumbar, gazed out from his high throne upon the tall butte, shaped like the towers of old. He held his staff in hand, and when he shifted, the beads and danglings that he wore would jingle. Upon either side of himself, within the clay room of the tower--which had undoubtedly been a lookout position of the Old Ones--stood two guards, each wearing a loincloth, and nothing else. They each held spears of their own, with jagged stone tips. Far off, and below, with Mandalla's great gaze, he spied the Working Man--the Tumbar title for "The Unnamed One"--who was drawing water from his well. Mandalla knew the man had a well, and that it wasn't just a lucky supply of water, either. He knew that it was some magic of the Old Ones, hidden beneath the surface, in the Tunnel Lands below. And he WANTED the well. And when the Chief WANTED something, he got IT.
Returning less than a moment later, with a carved cup in hand--probably clay, judging by its shape--and made, once more, for the well. Dipping the cup into its contents, he returned with a cup full of clear, shimmering water.
It's damn near lucky that I found this well, he thought--and would always think when he dipped his cup into the water; somewhat similar to a prayer. It's too fuckin lucky that I found one of dem Old One's water sources, too damn lucky. And no one else knows about it... which is good. VERY good...
The man drank the water in small, short droughts, as if to savor it. After draining one cup, he returned to his hut.
***
Chief Mandalla Splitskin, chieftain of the northern Tribes of Tumbar, gazed out from his high throne upon the tall butte, shaped like the towers of old. He held his staff in hand, and when he shifted, the beads and danglings that he wore would jingle. Upon either side of himself, within the clay room of the tower--which had undoubtedly been a lookout position of the Old Ones--stood two guards, each wearing a loincloth, and nothing else. They each held spears of their own, with jagged stone tips. Far off, and below, with Mandalla's great gaze, he spied the Working Man--the Tumbar title for "The Unnamed One"--who was drawing water from his well. Mandalla knew the man had a well, and that it wasn't just a lucky supply of water, either. He knew that it was some magic of the Old Ones, hidden beneath the surface, in the Tunnel Lands below. And he WANTED the well. And when the Chief WANTED something, he got IT.
