There once was a time when stars held stagnant in the sky, when the gods were at peace and kept their blessings to themselves. This was a dark time for our tribe. Without the blessings, hunting was dangerous, weapons were dull and primitive, the rains burnt our flesh and crops. Many became sick. Many died.
A man from a far away place was found in the maws of a giant bore. Hunters brought him back, his body crushed and torn. Our leader made him medicine and she was there when he stole a blessing from the gods. Sadly, the man from far away died, but the blessing he stole remains in our elders keep, making better many who are broken or torn.
This was when the gods began to war, and we began to thrive.
