A Single Grain Of Sand

It bubbled out of him like an afterthought, the light chuckle reverberating through the air. His eyes were drawn to the silver glare of the gaily rivulet in front of him.

It was lit up from within, the fish weaving patterns in the water and leaving ripples in their wake. He bent down and ran his hands through the fine silt, tilting his head in surprise when he discovered tiny licks of icy flame lighting up each and every grain of sand…..could it even be called that?

But his hand didn't burn.

He clutched his jacket, hand dipping inside his pocket to hold his lucky charm, a little pinecone he had carried all his life to assure himself he was not dreaming.

He wasn't.

'Whose is this?', the boy thought, delight and lazy surprise evident on his face. 'Who owns a moon stream, and where does it go?'

His village was close by, about a mile away. Sunset was gradually approaching, and he had to get home before sundown or the wolves would have a feast for supper.

Still, his footsteps took him away from the mountain and down the valley, following the trickle of water until it opened up ……..

 'Oh'

He shook his head in disappointment, shaggy, uncut hair falling around his face as he looked into and over the vast waters of the Beas.

The vast, polluted waters of the Beas.

He looked around, frantically searching. It must be here somewhere.

'Oh!'

There, right before the moon-water melded into the river, a creature knelt, its tongue lapping at the fire-sand in careless abandon. He stifled his cry of surprise, and could only watch helplessly, frozen two feet away as it raised its feline head, glaring at him through slitted eyes. Its pointed ears flicked back and forth like a camera shutter, tail curling around its dusty fur covered hind paws in defence.

The boy was painfully aware of how pointed its teeth were, and how sharp its claws, gouging scars into the rock it stood on. 

His hand twitched, just once, towards the vanishing silver stream. It was such a little thing, barely noticeable.

The creature didn't miss it.

"Stay away, human." It growled, licking its lips. "Stay away from this one thing that the two-legs have not destroyed, or I will die. But you… you will die first."

It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.

He screamed, then, running, running as fast as his little legs could take him, all the way back to his village. He didn't turn his head to see whether the creature was following him or not. If he had, he would have seen it bending to drink once more, the licks of icy white fire spreading across its body but for a single moment before sinking into its skin, forming a shimmering halo around its head. Like the mane of a lion.

An ethereal thing not of this world.

The sun had set, and just as the night cast its shadowy veil over the earth, he stumbled the last few steps up to his village.

"Mama, mama!" He cried, fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks and dripping onto the dry sand.

His mother, who had been waiting for him ever since sundown, embraced him with open arms.

The firesticks the village folk used as light burned brightly, lighting the path, the woman and child up in the same eerie glow of the river. Except this fire was yellow and red and orange.

This fire burned. This fire left scars.

This fire destroyed. 

"I saw a Moon Stream, and a talking black lion, and it said it would kill me!" 

His babbling made no sense to the woman, and all she could do was calm the frightened boy.

"Don't be silly, child.", She laughed. "How could an animal talk? And if you saw a moon-stream, bring me the water, and I will believe you." She gently coaxed his tears to a halt, an extraordinary ability possessed by all mothers.

He stuck his chin out stubbornly. "I will."

When dawn finally arrived, the boy woke from his restless sleep and went in search of the strange trickle of a stream he had seen. But, try as he might, he could not find it.

He searched high and low, jaw set determinedly. He even managed to trace his way back to the Beas, frightened though he was. He would not return home without it.

There was no hair nor hide of the creature, and all he found for proof were the claw marks set deep into immovable stone. He looked across the river once more.

And this time, he thought he understood.

Great metal pipes jutted out from the mountainside, a stark contrast to the gentle hues of the river, carrying wastes and chemicals and garbage that his people had created. They all emptied into the river, tons and tons of sewage and pollutants.

Tears filled his eyes. Destroying………

Maybe he could grow up to be a better man. He could make a place for creating, for cherishing, for embracing the wildness of the forest and the river.

In their efforts to tame an untamable thing, humans had broken it far beyond repair.

His mind made up, he turned from the river, clarity glinting in his eyes for the first time in generations of mountain-folk.

He returned, empty-handed, with nothing but his memories and his mind to guide him.

 His mother laughed it off, and told him to grow up. He had. He knew what to do. What to change. The sun rose and set the same, but he wouldn't.

He would greet the wildness and accept it, and ask his people to do the same. And as night fell, the single grain of fire-sand with the icy-white flame in his jacket pocket glowed, and glowed, and glowed.