Mothôpô examined the shrine to Seasons with a critical air. He’d spent a lot of time on it, tinkering with this and that, but he thought he’d finally found the right balance. There was a large central stone pushed into the hillside with a stone circle carved into it. All along the circle were carved crude pictographs that represented the various seasons and also the transition between seasons. Plants that grew at a certain time, when the rains fell, when the herds came. It was, in effect, a crude calendar. The center had been left blank, but Mothôpô had learned the art of mixing various dyes and painted a different scene every couple days. A plant he’d seen, sunrise over the plains, the stars in the sky. He never painted animals unless they were seen from a distance and there were many of them. Migrations were all right, individuals were not. Gathered around the central stone, he’d added smaller stones to represent spring, summer, autumn and winter. He’d flattened the ground in front of the main stone and didn’t let the grass grow too tall, so that there was a handy and simple place to leave offerings to Seasons. The rest of the plants he left alone – there was no need to force them to be a certain way when it would better suit the nature of the shrine to let them change with the seasons. It was, he decided, a good shrine.
Govad had traveled long and far from the Ukuucha’Wafalme, but he still hadn’t found a suitable lady to bring home with him. He brushed aside all of the females who had turned him down or tried to eat him – nothing but a bunch of savages! No, if he was going to do this… banu quest… thing, then he was going to do it right. So he was a hare and all of the rest of the males were big cats – what did that matter? Wasn’t he handsome, wasn’t he clever? It was a wonder he wasn’t fighting off ladies each and every day, and not just the kind who wanted to eat him. Of course only the best females would do; it wasn’t like he was desperate or anything.And he wasn’t wandering around the Ulili-mlindaji in search of the shrine of love or the shrine of sexy ladies because he was desperate either. Nope.
But speaking of the shrine of sexy ladies who totally love Govad, where was the damn thing? Surely there was someone around he could ask.
Mothôpô was putting the finishing touches on a new painting of a spring he had seen in the hills when he heard the snap of a twig behind him. He froze, terrified it was a visitor. He much preferred to keep to himself, talking wasn’t much of a strong point. Talking was best left alone altogether, when it came right down to it! He added a last hasty dab to the painting and turned, a stiff grin on his maw. No one. How curious! He turned his head left, then right. Still no one. What on earth?
Well this was really too much! The cheek of that lion, ignoring him like that. “Down here thick head!” Govad huffed. He stood up on his hind legs and positively glared at the big brute in front of him.
