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Mar 19, 2021 23:45
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| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 16:37 |
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https://scienceblog.com/521623/research-discovers-malaria-devastating-humans-far-earlier-than-expected/ Rain 1441/1500 words The roll of distant thunder shook the jungle. Anturak looked up from the coconut he was trying to shake loose from the tree and sighed. Yet another rainy day. The rain had been so frequent this season. He knew he should be glad of it, as his tribe’s usual foraging grounds was lush with fruit this year, but he was growing tired of the constant drip of the rain, the damp and cold that seemed to permeate his bones at night, and the ever-present insects. As the patter of rain increased and the birdsong faded to silence, he gathered his pack and started the slow roam towards his tribe’s camp. Anturak felt the effort of the long walk burn through him on the way to the campground. He’d always been smaller and weaker than other members of the tribe, but he’d been able to keep up enough to hold his own and contribute to the efforts of the tribe. Although he’d been considered an outcast for most of his youth, as he couldn’t keep up with the brawniest hunters, he’d always had a soft spot for the old, the ill, and the young ones born to the tribe. Perhaps it wasn’t a surprise that he’d lasted this long on his wits and skills at keeping himself and others alive. While other young men spent their time taking down the animals that were the primary food source for the tribe, he spent his time identifying, collecting and testing plants, attempting to help ease the aches, pains, fevers, and injuries that came with a life roaming the jungles. On today’s forage, he’d collected enough of the vine that he could wrap around a limb swollen from a bad fall one of the children had taken, climbing a tree to scavenge a bird’s nest for eggs. Today’s efforts had also resulted in a quantity of ripe mango, his daughter’s favorite food. He arrived in time to catch the collection of children chasing each other back into camp, their spirits undampened by the incessant patter of rain. His daughter, Anara, limped up to him as fast as she could move, a few paces behind the other children. “Papa! We had such a fun time! We found a bluefruit vine, and some sweet tubers, and Lanfura found some frog’s eggs, and we played in the puddles, and had so much fun!” Anturak dropped his bundles to sweep his daughter into a hug. Anara’s mother had died, three years before, to the sweating sickness that seemed to sweep through the camp in the rainy season. Despite all his skills with herbs, Anturak hadn’t been able to save her. He treasured his daughter, and went out of his way to find her favorite fruits and plants for her. She was small for her age, and weaker than the other children, often trailing behind in their running games to prepare for the hunts of the older youths. “That’s exciting! Anara, here. Just between us, have a mango before I give my foraging over to the cooking-pot.” After settling his daughter with her snack on their sleeping mats, he carried the rest of his pack to the center of the camp, where the cooking women were preparing the evening’s meal. “Anturak, would you look in on my mother? She’s been feverish, and she’s not been eating,” said one of the cooking women. “I helped her over to where the other sickly ones were resting, but she’s barely moved since then.”Anturak nodded, and carried his pack with his medicinal plants to the sleeping area for the elders and those too ill to gather or hunt. Under the skins stretched over the bamboo frame, an older woman was lying on her sleeping mat, her form nearly motionless. Anturak knelt and gently touched her face, feeling the familiar burn of the sweating sickness on her forehead. “Mother, can you sit up? Let me give you some water,” he coaxed, offering her the cup he found near her sleeping mat. He helped her to sit up, and held the cup while she sipped. She murmured her thanks, and settled back against her mat. Anturak sat back, selected some herbs from his pack, and began grinding a poultice to bring down her fever. This woman was the eleventh who had come down with the sweating illness in recent days, and each of them reminded him of his mate, Anara’s mother. Sometimes his poultices helped, and the people recovered in several days. Sometimes they didn’t. And sometimes, as with Anara’s mother, they recovered, only to fall ill again weeks later, and then no poultice would help. “Papa, is she going to be okay?” Anturak whirled, seeing Anara approaching the woman’s sleeping mat. “Get away from there!” he bellowed, and the girl leaped back, frightened of her usually calm father’s unexpected wrath. “You know you’re never allowed to come with me when I’m visiting the ill. I won’t risk losing you to the sweating illness too,” he growled at her. “But papa, I want to help! I can grind the herbs for her, or give her water, or…” her voice trailed away as her father glowered at her. “You could, yes. You could also get the same illness. It goes like that, through people who spend too much time around the ill, sometimes. I won’t allow it.” Anara frowned, but backed away from the sick woman to the edge of the tent. “Go back to our sleeping area, I’ll be back after I’ve treated her and checked on the others who are sick. When I treat Nama’s son, you can come with me to help re-bind his leg with the vines.” Frowning, Anara withdrew from the tent, and wandered closer to the circle of light around the cook-fire at the center of camp. Anturak kept an eye on her, until she joined a circle of children playing a hopping game near the edge of the light. Assured she wouldn’t return to the area where the other ill tribespeople lay resting, he moved among the recumbent forms, checking on a fevered brow here, and a clammy arm there. There were so many this season, he thought. Nearly half the tribe’s elders were showing signs of the sweating sickness, and a handful of the younger people. He ground herbs for poultices until his pack was nearly depleted, and was starting to pack his supplies to head towards the cook-fired, when a rustle and growl split the air. Anturak turned, to see a massive, dark shape bound towards the edge of the camp. The tribespeople at the cook fire reacted quickly. Some leaped to their feet, and snatched weapons or makeshift torches from the fire. Some of the women screamed and sprinted towards the area where the children were playing, who had scattered when the animal appeared. Anturak scrambled to his feet, and moved as quickly as he could, keeping an eye out to see if anyone was injured. As he drew closer to where the children had been playing, he heard shrieks from the bushes outside the camp area. The hunters who had thought to grab weapons charged the bush, which shook with the movement of a large predator. The majority of the children were huddling amongst the cooking women, in the safety of the fire’s heat. Anturak started towards them, thinking to check for injuries, when his heart stopped. Anara wasn’t among them. He felt cold all over, as he turned and froze, staring at the bush the hunters had just cleared. The animal growls were silent now, and all Anturak could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the gentle patter of rain all around him. He knew he should be moving closer, to see to the injured, but fear for his daughter kept him rooted in place. An eternity later, one of the tribe’s best hunters slowly approached the circle of fire, bearing a small, frail, bloodied bundle. Tears shining in his eyes, he drew closer to Anturak. “I saw…I saw her trip. She…she just couldn’t keep up with the other children,” he said. Anturak felt as if he was moving through deep, heavy water. With shaking hands, he uncovered the bundle the hunter carried. His precious daughter rested in the hunter’s arms, a look of peace at odds with the slashes and blood that covered her body. Anturak took his daughter from the hunter, slowly sinking to his knees in the muck. He held her for what felt like eternity. The rain washed her blood away, and Anturak felt all the warmth and light in the world was washed away with it.
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Mar 22, 2021 04:02
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Sorry Brotherly, I didn't check the thread after signing up, and had already written the story before I saw your blog assignment. If this DQ's the story, I'll accept your judgement.
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Mar 22, 2021 04:02
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In! This is gonna be fun.
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Apr 1, 2021 03:58
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