Hadal was the eldest member of the tribal community, and he was dying. He knew he was dying; he know a lot of things, though he didn't often have the words for them. Hadal had kept his tribe safe through the years by his daily observations of the winds and sky, by his implementation of a scout system, and by his ability to find the underlying causes behind events. Most in his tribe thought Hadal was in communication with the gods, and that he was given special knowledge, but he knew that anyone could do what he did, if only they would take a moment to think.
At this moment, Hadal was sitting in one of his favorite places along an overlook on the clifftop. There was a tree and a stone and he leaned back in the angle they made and thought. Hadal thought further forward than he had ever thought before, and he imagined the generations of decedents of his people. He imagined what they would do based on what they would need when more children were born, and more elderly lived longer, as Hadal had lived longer than his parents, who had lived longer than their parents. The elder imagined a future that he could not even name, and he saw the wind blowing the dust. He saw the clifftop where he sat worn by the wind. He saw the river that gave them life eating the world. He saw the clouds gather and release, relentlessly through births and deaths. He saw the world washed and his people taken.
He let these images wash over him, like the warm wind was at that moment, and he sat until the next thought came as it always did. It was a question: what would remain?
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