How the Reef Was Made

When I was a cub, the furres of my village would often sit by the large stone hearth in the lodge and tell stories as the winter winds drove the waves smashing into the reef that ringed our island. One of those stories told of how that very reef was made. At the time, I thought it was only a tale to entertain us cubs, but now, having learned its true meaning, I tell it to you as a gift from my heart.

Long, long ago a furre named Bebji set sail from the island to go fishing in his small dory. Out across the shallow green water and into the clear deep sea he went, the wind lifting his boat lightly over the waves and the spray from the bow cooling his face. Bebji looked up as he heard a splash off to the side of his boat, then another and another.

Bebji lowered his sail and began casting his net over the sea where the fish leapt above the waves. Cast after cast, Bebji brought in a glittering haul of silvery fish and emptied his net into the bottom of his boat. Though the sun shone hotly and his muscles quivered beneath his fur as he labored, Bebji continued to work with a smile on his face. He caught fish and fish and fish. And more fish.

Bebji was filled with joy for it was our custom on the island to greet the fisherfurres as they returned, and to celebrate their efforts and the fish they caught with feasting and song.

“Oh, joy!” cried Bebji to himself as he caught sight of our island. “There will be many happy furres tonight, and tummies filled for days and days and days.”

When the waves pushed his boat against the sandy shore, Bebji filled his arms with the fish he caught and jumped into the water to join his friends. But no one was there. No one waited at the edge of the waves to greet him. No one rushed onto the beach with songs on ther lips.

Staring at the empty beach, Bebji’s shoulders drooped, and as each tear spilled from Bebji’s eyes, the fish fell into the sea with a quiet splash one by one until his arms were empty and he held only sorrow. Bebji slipped beneath the water where his life slowly ebbed away. The waves gently washed over Bebji and lifted away his sorrow. Carried by the tide, Bebji’s sorrow tumbled around and around the island, pressed and kneaded by the wind and waves until it became hard and heavy. Then it sank, broken and jumbled atop the sand.

The furres of the island finally recalled themselves from their idle pursuits and came looking for Bebji, calling his name, but of course there was no answer. Then as they stepped into the water, they tripped, each and every one, on the rough stone at their feet. Some slipped into the water, some were cut. The hardened sea floor, the newly formed reef, clawed at the furres so the would not forget the customs, nor Bebji’s sorrow.

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