[center][h1][b]Ma'otah[/b][/h1][/center]

When the Great Fire ignited, most people were simply too shocked, too in awe to do anything but stare at the sky. They felt Its dry heat, adding to the already too hot dry season. They looked at their hands, at their home, at the clouds, seeing new colors, or perhaps just old colors as they always were. They looked at each other, seeing all the little nuances that they couldn't before, how some had slightly lighter skin or hair or eyes, how some had moles and some hadn't, how ever single one of them was different in infinitely subtle ways. And when their faces began to burn, they instinctively ran to the respite of their homes.

The first day passed without much getting done at all, everyone too shaken by the new change. When night fell, some hoped that the Great Fire was just a strange, momentary occurence. They were proven wrong when the morning came, and the Fire came back, proving Itself to be a new, permanent fixture in the sky.

Many things happened on that second day. The weavers got to work first, harvesting the suddenly much taller grass around the village. Their clothing had always been simple, nothing more than woven grass skirts, sandals, and other legwear, for the constant heat was too intense to wear beast pelts, or even cover their chests outside of the rainy season. Skirts did little to protect from the Great Fire's burning light, however, and so many, many hats were woven that day, with large brims to shelter one's head and body in soothing shadows.

Then followed the soil-tenders, those who understood the ground and the life that grew from it. They went to their herb gardens, and saw how each plant had grown multiple weeks' worth in a single night, and were growing still, flowering and rotting before their eyes. A great rush followed, trying to salvage what they could from the harvest, laying roots and leaves to dry and be preserved.

Fire-tenders saw one of the first benefits; no longer did they need their fire to burn bright constantly. Their work lessened during the day to only keeping a few embers alive for when the dark night would come, and the subsequent decrease in firewood usage made every woodcutter very happy. After all, chopping wood in their savanna, where trees are few and far between, is a long and complicated affair that necessitates far too much planning, and more free time is always welcomed.

Gatherers rushed to the growing wild grasses, harvesting as many flowers as possible, hoping to extract new pigments from them. Hunters struggled as preys now were much better hidden in the waist-high grasses. The plant rot set in, the sudden abundance declining rapidly, the soil tired and overworked. They started to rely on their food stockpiles, the wild not giving enough to feed everyone anymore. People began to pray to the Great Fire, though they were split as to why: some gave thanks for the light and colors, others asked for mercy and abundance once again.

Ma'otah did not stop them. She too, prayed. To the Great Fire, to Khthon, to any God or Spirit willing to listen. She knew, as they all did, that by witnessing the birth of the Great Fire, they had witnessed a God at work. It made sense, she supposed: if the One That Lay Beneath ruled the Earth, then it followed that there would be One That Stands Above that ruled the sky. The Great Fire must've been Its body, now revealed to all mortalkind.

Thankfully, some of their prayers must have been heard, for while the plants continued to grow too fast, the soil seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and grew rich and fertile once more. The rot was swallowed, leaving space for new growth, and slowly they started to rebuild their food stocks.

Changes had to be made to suit their new situations, with more work to be done to ensure their subsistence. Grumbling followed, especially from their most dedicated craftsmasters, who now did not have as much time to practice their crafts, though all eventually relented. The elders argued about logistics, about the lessened trade and visitors since the Great Fire appeared, about whether they should burn any eventual offerings to It or leave them high up for It to reach, about if they should do more controlled burns more often now that the grasses grew to full maturity in barely a few days... the list went on and on.

But they had reached an equilibrium. They remained fed, though uncertainty still lurked. Art was still made, though in lesser amounts. Khthon kept to his word, offerings always leading to new minerals. Everything could still break at any moment, but for now, they would survive, as they always had.

[hider=Summary]
Ma'otah's people witness the birth of the Sun. They are amazed by all that the light brings, especially their new ability to see color much better. They adapt as well as they can to the Sun, and weave sun hats to protect themselves from sunburn. When the soil starts depleting, many pray to the Sun, which they call the Great Fire, hoping for a return to normal plant growth. They believe the Sun to be the body of a God that rules the skies, to which they give the title of "the One That Stands Above".

When the soil are re-enriched, the village manages to reach a fragile state of stability, where they can survive and feed themselves by spending less time crafting and more time working, to the displeased acceptance of many.[/hider]