The grasses wave and dance across the plains, the flowers bloom and bees dance. The butterflies flit from bloom to bloom, just as each of us flits from life to death, and then to life again - life for the flowers, for the grass, which give us life in turn. And so it goes on and on, and the same stories come again and again to us on the wind. They are the Isles and the Mysts, teaching us the ways of how to be, how to live, and it is best that we listen, or else we will be taught by harsher methods.

There was a group once, with many creatures who lived together and worked together across the seasons. None worked so hard as the prairie dogs, a large clan who labored tirelessly to support the group in all things, for so they had been taught by their mothers. They scouted the land, finding food and forage for all to partake in. They built breaks in the grasses to protect against fires and guide them around camps and foraging ground. Wells were dug and water brought up from deep below in the dry season, and grasses were woven when the rains came to keep stores and creatures dry. All this the prairie dogs did, and they were much respected by all within the group for their efforts. All, that is, save one.

The pronghorn spent her days idling and dancing, playing dice with others in the group and whistling by the shores of the river. She would flit from plan to plan, never staying in one place long, always taking things as they came to her. She would eat when she was hungry, sleep when she was tired, and never felt particularly guilty about doing either at the expense of the rest of the group. “I do my share!” she would snort, when others pointed out that she was once again taking from the common stores. “I am cheerful and energetic, and life is good and easy! If you need my help, you need only ask!” Off she would skip, finding a new game to play. Often times she would come to the prairie dogs, and ask them why they worked so hard. “Food is plentiful! Come and play a game or three with me, and enjoy life!”

The prairie dogs would shake their heads and refuse. “When it is easy, now is the time to work, and to prepare for times when life is harder,” they said in response. “Come, we will show you how. After all,” they said to each other, quietly, “perhaps she only needs guidance, or teaching. We will help her in her tasks, and show her the rewards of working for the group.” And they turned back to the pronghorn, saying, “Come, cousin! You have been asked to gather in forage for all of us, is it not so? Let us lend a paw.”

The pronghorn was wide-eyed and nodded quickly up and down. “Oh yes, thank you ever so much! This will make things much easier!” And off the group all went, and began to forage. But it was not long until the pronghorn wandered a little ways off and, finding herself more or less alone, shrugged. “Those prairie dogs work so much, do they even know how to play anymore? Well, if working is so enjoyable to them that they would offer to help others, then let them help!” So off she skipped into the grasses.

It was summer, and the berry bushes were ripe and heavy with fruit. The smell filled the air with sweetness, and bees buzzed steadily from bush to flower. The pronghorn perked up at the sight, her eyes merry as she watched the insects bumbling about. “Oh, look at how the bees are silly, even as they are working! I shall do as they do, and pick berries at the same time!” Prancing from bush to bush, she began to harvest the berries, and to think of what game she could play to make the work more fun. Her stomach grumbled as she thought, and she laughed and tossed a berry high into the air, catching it neatly in her mouth. "Oh! What fun!" So she continued the game, tossing berries high into the air and trying to catch them and gobble them down.

As the sun sank gently towards the horizon she started to tire of the game. Berries lay scattered on the ground behind her, partially squashed by hoof prints or deflating under the hot sun. Not only that, but the pronghorn had snacked on many of the leaves as well as berries - she had been quite hungry - leaving the bushes as tattered as after a sudden, violent storm. The pronghorn had only a small handful of berries and leaves that she had not eaten to show for her efforts. Unperturbed, she whisked her way back towards where the prairie dogs had been working.

The prairie dogs had spent their day in busy labor, having carefully foraged a large field of sweet grasses. One of them had also discovered a small spring, and working together they had dug a small cistern and collecting pond, which would both give the group plenty of water to drink from as well as allow nearby plants to flourish. As the day came towards an end they paused, wiping their brows and perking up as they heard the approaching whistle of the pronghorn. Eager to see what she had done, they scurried out to meet her.

“Hello, cousin!” they called as they came closer. “How has this lovely day treated you, and what have you brought to us! We have worked all day, and are looking forward to sharing in the food you have foraged.”

The pronghorn pranced to a stop and proudly presented her meager harvest. “Cousins! I have worked hard today, but the bounty was not what we expected. Perhaps a sudden wind, or another group of creatures have come this way?” She shrugged, unconcerned. The prairie dogs murmured in surprise, and glanced amongst themselves at this sudden development.

“Well,” they all said, “still you… did do what you set out to do. Let us share a small meal together, before the evening rest.”

The pronghorn gasped aloud at this. “B-but these are stores for the winter months! Surely you cannot mean to take from them so readily? How will I survive when the cold comes? Oh no, we cannot eat these now!” And on she went, crying for her companions to take pity on her, until at last the prairie dogs huffed collectively.

“Very well, cousin, we will find our own fare.” And off they went grumbling to find food after their long day’s work, while the pronghorn returned to her home and carefully stashed away the berries - but not before eating a few more for dessert.

The heat of summer slowly faded into the cooler winds of autumn, with thick tufts of dried grasses laying in piles and fallen drifts across the plains. Saplings and other, woody bushes poked up through the brush after the summer growth, and the decision was made that a burn of the prairie needed to be done before the onset of winter, to allow the ground to lie quiet and ready itself before the spring bloom. Each creature was given its task to accomplish, for burns were a serious matter that required all to pitch in. Some would work to start and shepherd the blaze, while others would work hard to set up boundaries and to control the spread of the flames.

The prairie dogs immediately leapt to work, digging trenches and churning up earth to be soaked with water carried from the group’s cisterns. They also carefully stored away seeds and forage deep underground, where the fire could not reach the food that would see the group through the winter months. Once again they went to the pronghorn, saying “Cousin! All must help with the burn today, and we have the perfect job for you. Go and gather the fallen grasses and brush along our trenches, so the fire has no way of crossing them.” They had spoken quietly with themselves, and decided that giving the pronghorn this one, simple job would be best.

The pronghorn sighed and pouted as she rose from where she had been napping. “Very well, cousins! Is there anything that I should know about today’s work?” She looked at them innocently. “After all, I only want to help make today a success!”

The prairie dogs thought a moment. “No, we don’t think so. The wind is expected to be from the east today, and the burn will begin just after the sun’s highest point. Make sure you are ready!” And off they scampered, eager to get to work.

The pronghorn sauntered off, flicking her tail and moping. “Ugh, those prairie dogs will be busy as always, and make so many more trenches than are necessary. Surely they don’t all need to be cleared? That will be so much work!” Thinking for a moment, she tapped her hooves together in gleeful decision. “Oh, I know! They said that the wind would be from the east today, didn’t they? Ah ha, so the fire will spread westward! Oh, and the river lies to the south, and surely the fire cannot cross! So I must only clear the trenches to the west.” A moment more, and she stamped delicately. “And also the north, for that is my favorite sleeping spot. That is much easier though, now that I have been clever about it.”

She trotted off to get to work, merrily praising herself for her wit and forethought. The morning passed, and after clearing away the grasses and tying them in small bundles to be collected she yawned and glanced at the sun. “Oh, the burn will be starting quite soon! I must leave quickly, so I am not scorched myself. Perhaps I will take a short nap, before the evening sets in.” She yawned and grabbed up several of the grass bundles before heading off northward. Arriving at her favorite spot beneath a spreading juniper tree, she inhaled the biting scent and sighed happily. She arranged the grass bundles as sweet-smelling pillows, and drifted off to sleep.

The fire was set, and spread hungrily across the prairie. It crackled across the mounds of dried grass like a winding serpent, sank claws into the saplings, and roared like a great beast as it scorched the land. Various groups of creatures carefully shepherded it along, running back and forth carrying buckets to soak the land to coax the beast this way or that. It snapped and lashed, and then leapt suddenly sideways - the berry bushes, dead and dried beneath the high summer sun after the pronghorn’s foraging, feeding the blaze’s rush. The flames broke past the creatures attempting to control it, and crashed against the southern trenches. Grasses lay long and scattered here, and in a flash they ignited, bridging the trench line. Onward the fire roared, straight to the river and then rushing east and west along the water. The inferno towered to the sky, burning hotter and brighter until the creatures were forced into full retreat.

The following day dawned gray and ashen, the plains blackened and scorched bare. The group slowly came together, surveying the devastation caused by the blaze. To the west and the north the fire had been contained, and the land the creatures used for forage had been mostly spared. The south and east were a different story, lying barren of grass and bush alike due to the heat of the fire. The river water ran murky and ash-choked, and the elders shook their heads, knowing that the winter rains would fill it further with mud without the grasses to hold it back. Several cisterns had boiled away in the blaze, and the bundles of grasses had been scorched. As the extent of the damage became clear, all present murmured and turned to the prairie dogs. “How did this happen?” they asked, eyes piercing.

The prairie dogs spoke briefly among themselves, then turned and stood tall before the group. “Cousins, it was our job to dig the trenches and clear them, so that the fire would be contained and not damage the forage and water we need to survive the winter. In this we have failed, and understand your hurt, your sadness, your fears for the coming winter. We offer apology, and our promise to you that we will share the stores we have gathered and put away, below the ground where the fire could not reach them. We asked the pronghorn to help us in clearing the trenches, and we will go and speak with them.” The others glanced among themselves, but the prairie dogs scurried off to find the pronghorn.

And find her they did, snoring loudly under the stand of juniper. She awoke immediately as one of the prairie dogs jumped onto her chest, peering up at them with wide eyes. She sniffed the air. “Aah, cousins! The burn went well, then?”

“No,” they chittered sternly, “the fire burned past the area where it was planned to go, and scorched the land. The grasses lie whithered to the east, the river is full of ash, and there is fear for the winter months. We asked you to clear the trenches, cousin, and now we ask you what you know of what happened.”

“Me? You think I did something to cause this?” The pronghorn clattered up to her feet, and looked astonished. “Why, the wind was supposed to blow to the west - you said so yourself! Do not blame me if it did not do so, for surely you cannot expect me to tell the wind what it can and cannot do. I worked hard, and look!” She held up the bundles of grasses that she had been using for pillows. “I even saved extra forage! So all is well, and you can allow me to finish my nap.”

With that she curled herself back up, dismissing the prairie dogs. They huffed and looked among themselves, before gathering up the bundles. “Very well, cousin. We will leave you to your rest, and not bother you again.” And they trailed off into the grasses, tailed held high while above the clouds raced across the sky before the oncoming winter.

Behind the clouds came bitter rains and that fell and froze, encasing grass and bush and tents in clinging ice. Winds howled across the prairie, and snow fell in sheets and drifted into enormous piles. The creatures of the group settled down around fires or in underground burrows, snug and warm against the biting chill. True to their words, the prairie dogs had dug a network of tunnels across the group’s winter grounds, allowing them to deliver food and water to all no matter how high the snow piled up above.

The pronghorn met the winter weather with joy and delight at first. She danced through the falling flakes, catching them on her tongue, and marveling at the sheen of ice across the landscape. Her favorite juniper tree had become an enormous sculpture, with icicles bent and twisted by the wind into fantastical shapes. Snapping off several, the pronghorn gleefully licked at them like frozen treats while she tossed herself down into the snow, forming great snowbirds with her waving limbs.

Soon enough however a chill took to her, and she began to shiver. “Time for a lovely fire,” she declared, and set about to gather fuel to set the flame to. She searched and searched, but the landscape had been scorched by the fire and was bare; not a stick or a tuft of dried grass remained to bring to her fire pit. Harrumphing, she sat down in the cold and ice to come up with a plan, snacking on a few of her dried berries. But these were already running low, and she had to dig for the last few hoof-fulls, her stomach still grumbling despite her efforts. “Well, this won’t do! I will go and ask the prairie dogs for help!” She found the entrance to the prairie dog den, and knocked cheerfully on a stone. “Hello, cousins! I have heard that there is food here to share, and perhaps you have some twigs or a bundle of grass I can use to start a fire? It is quite cold outside!”

There was a long pause, before at last a few of the prairie dogs appeared at the burrow entrance. “Why, cousin! It is a surprise to see you here,” they said, blinking at her. “Why, we were quite sure that you would be perfectly fine seeing to yourself!”

The pronghorn pouted and shrugged. “Aah, well of course I am, but it is our way to all look out for each other, isn’t it?”

“Alas,” and the prairie dogs wrung their hands, “It has been a hard year, we are afraid. While we worked and labored to provide enough for all to share, it seems we are short for the winter. And you were so sure that you could handle your own needs, why, it seems we have only gathered enough for those who were less able! Perhaps come the spring, with the fire, there will be a bloom… but for now, we have naught to give.” And they opened their empty palms, shrugging back at the pronghorn.

“But what shall I do then?” The pronghorn cried aloud, and shivered pathetically. “Oh cousins, what can I do to change your minds? I will surely starve!”

The prairie dogs merely shook their heads. “Do not blame us if the land has failed to provide, especially when you were so sure that you had yourself well in hand. Go north, if you do not have enough; you will find woodland there, and perhaps enough to feed on until the spring. Surely you can handle such a thing, and we will see you come the spring thaw!” And with that they disappeared once more into their warm burrow.

Pleading and whining at the burrow entrance further did not stir the prairie dogs from within, no matter how loudly the pronghorn cried. At last she stamped her hoof, and instead yelled. “Fine! FINE! I will show you, and I will fend for myself, and in the spring I will return and show you all the fine forage I have found, and you will beg to share, but it will all be mine! Fah!” Kicking the stone beside the burrow she set off north, into the blowing snow.

North of the prairie the trees stand tall, and the snow thins below their spreading needles. Some say the pronghorn made her way among them, searching for forage in their shade. Others say eyes watched her go from the trees, and teeth gleamed in the winter dark. None can say her fate, other than that she was never seen again on the prairie lands.

Such is the way of it.