rice seer these heat rats mats cheer tart root nice tame tarn crease

Rice is our only resource. The Seer says it's all we need, and it will save us all. These heat rats breed mercilessly, and have begun to spill out from the mats they hide under during the day. We try to cheer each other up with silly performances of the prophecy of the eradication of the heat rats. One legend tells of a tart root growing under the mountain that can lure and poison the vicious rat horde, but since it contradicts the Seer's prophecy, to speak of it is formally forbidden and publicly feared. My oldest brother shares a legend with me that our grandfather shared with him many years ago. Once upon a time, these heat rats were nice and tame. We got along harmoniously with them. We gave them shelter and they gave us warmth. As our numbers grew, we produced more rice and took up more space. We pushed them out, and instead of sharing our rice with them, we burned it to replace the heat they had given us. The more we despised the rats, the more they crowded around us and multiplied, stealing our rice and overheating our homes. Only if we accept and respect them again will our lives become peaceful. The tension seems unbreakable. I can't imagine anyone in this land reconsidering our relationship with the heat rats. I feel more at peace with them than with my own people. I help them whenever I see them trying to get inside. I hide away from people. Our rice supplies are getting desperately low. To everyone's surprise, the Seer decrees that the tart root of the mountain must be found. The strongest farmers and staunchest enemies of the heat rats set out for the unexplored tarn at the center of the mountain. After many days of finding nothing, a hungry man, who lost his home and whole family to the heat rat invasion, dives to the bottom of the tarn and finds a shiny root stuck in a dark rocky crease. He knows that's what they've been looking for and pulls and pulls harder until he is out of breath. The root comes loose and floats to the top, and he drowns (he will not be missed). The entire land celebrates the tart root. Soon after placing it at the edge of town, we notice fewer heat rats, lower temperatures, less rice missing. Everyone calms down. The rats are all gone, and people seem happy. The tart root seems to slow time. The new rice crop seems to be growing slowly. In fact it isn't growing at all. The harvest yields less then ever before. People are even hungrier than at the height of the heat rat invasion. Winter is bitterly brutal. No rice to burn. No rats to keep us warm. The root is shining brightly, simply laying on an altar. It seems to need nothing to thrive. Nothing is what it gave us. We hate the tart root. Only last hope is to burn it. Everyone gathers at the altar. The Seer sets it alight. It is brighter than the sun, louder than a hurricane, and smells worse than anything. Those of us who were most excited originally by the tart root's power faint from the sensory overload. The rest us rat-lovers wait as the light, noise, and smell fade. All that's left is a black seedy ooze burning its way deep into the dirt. Through the new darkness, on a distant mountain, we see a soft orange glow flicker with life. In an instant, I know that it's the heat rats. We gather the fainted ones and journey onward to reunite with our old warm friends.