(As told at Tall Tales Aug 1 2019)
The Three Walking Sticks
A family had three younglings. As each reached the age when they would take their rites of passage, their mother placed before each, three walking sticks.
She offered one to each of the younglings, naming them simply, walking, running, climbing.
They seemed no different from one another and the younglings after a glance at their siblings each picked one up. They thanked their mother for the gift and began their rites.
After they completed the rites and were now Tribesmen on their way to becoming fine Braves and Mystics, the siblings began their own journeys.
One went forth to hunt the lands close to the Tribe. He always carried his walking stick strapped to his back when hunting or stalking pretty, but many times he was seen using the walking stick as he hiked the familiar lands of his home.
Another joined the armies of the Horde and through many trials, the running stick seemed to come in handy. It helped him fend off strange beasts late at night, protecting his companions and himself.
The third took the climbing stick, as her parents termed it. She travelled and explored, and like her brothers never left the stick behind. She enjoyed climbing, trees, rocks, hills, and even the highest peaks of new lands.
They returned home as they could, sharing stories of their journeys and enjoying their time together. Each of their journeys were so different from one another but each found enjoyment in sharing and learning of their siblings.
Each one would often rest a hand on their staff, which always lay close beside them when they sat around the bonfire. They each laughed easily and seemed closer every time they came together.
As they stood ready to become Braves and Mystics, the siblings sat one evening long into the night. They remarked on how much the different sticks had changed their lives. One stayed closer to home, one went where he was told, and one went wherever her eyes gazed upon the horizon. How much their choice early on had shaped who they became.
They went their ways again, and when next they came home, their mother was close to the end of her life.
They went to thank her again for the gift she had given them but were surprised when she remarked that they still carried the walking sticks. She said, “You outgrew them so long ago.”
“We do not understand,” they protested. They told her stories of their activities, describing in great detail how the stick they chose had been there for them, helping them to survive and succeed.
“Break them immediately,” the Crone said firmly, and the siblings gasped as one. But their mother was an Elder, as well as their own mother, and not one of them would defy her.
Each struggled, a small glance at their siblings betraying their doubts, but did as she asked.
“Throw the pieces on the bonfire,” she ordered them.
They hesitated still, but again did as they were told.
“Go and I will be here when you return next,” and she laid down to rest.
The siblings took their leave when An’she next rose, but this time without the walking sticks.
One hunted, one stood by his fellows and fought with honor, and the other found another new land to explore.
When next they returned to Snowblind Mesa, the place of their birth, they greeted each other with smiles and went immediately to see their mother.
They kneeled before her as one and thanked her for the best gift she had ever given them and told each other and the Crone all about their experiences as Mu’sha climbed high into the sky, the same family bonfire burning brighter than ever.
Will there be any more?