//------------------------------//
// Movement 1 - Rise 
// Story: The Ballad of Maelewano 
// by Rambling Writer 
//------------------------------//

Our tale starts many moons ago;
The world was still so young.
We zebras roamed across it all
To reaches so far-flung.

From jungles, plains, great mountains high,
To forests, rolling dunes,
Zebras lived most everywhere
In their mobile communes.

These close-knit herds together stayed
From birth through life to death
As they kept trekking ’cross the lands’
Full height, full width, full breadth.

They gathered food, they taught their young,
With seasons they e’er moved.
But friendliness with other tribes
Was something not behooved.

Outsiders were of no import
Beyond their fights and trades.
Although some zebras changed their groups,
Within their tribes most stayed.

We told ourselves that we were great,
But to ourselves we lied.
Our motelike clans could not be strong
’Til we were unified.





The tribe of Maelewano’s birth
Was one of no great fame.
It held no sway across the plains
And time has killed its name.

But from this group of no renown
Did Maelewano spring
For bloodlines are no source of worth;
Your acts are everything.

The moon was full when she was birthed,
The plains so bright with stars.
“A special one,” the shamare said,
“Her fate shall reach out far.”

And Maele proved a bright young foal,
Her thirst for knowledge long.
With every day, her wisdom bloomed
As she grew tall and strong.

Although a noble’s heir she was
Within her little tribe,
Herself she never did exalt,
Nor overgather pride.

“My family does not make me great.”
These words were heard from her.
Her friends and teachers had been sought
Among the commoners.

This may not seem so radical
To us, in modern times.
But in those days, it was not done;
Strict were the classes’ lines.

One did not move beyond their rank
In any shape or form;
To stay within one’s role ’til death
In those days was the norm.

So other tribes, they thought her mad
And shunned these brand new paths.
Yet Maelewano still ignored
The barriers ’tween the castes.

In young and old, in great and small,
She kept mixed company.
Perhaps this was an early sign
Of what she’d come to be.





Of all the friends that Maele made,
Kiburi was the first.
They’d known each other all their lives;
Together they were nursed.

The only daughter of the leader
Of their tribe’s warband,
Kiburi was nigh royalty
And deep her lineage ran.

Inseparable the two near were
From foals to full-grown mares.
The elders said, in all their days,
They’d ne’er seen such a pair.

As one, they played and gathered food
And learned their tribe’s old ways;
They thought that if the world should end,
Their friendship would remain.

They swore themselves as bonded kin
One day upon the veldt
And though they were but children yet,
Their oaths were still upheld.

One night a popobawa fierce
Upon their camp came down.
It pounced when Maele tried to run,
And threw her to the ground.

The popobawa eyed its prey;
Its visage seemed to gloat.
It bared serrated, bloodstained teeth,
To tear apart her throat.

But with a cry, Kiburi charged,
Her mother’s spear held high.
The monster she attacked in rage
And took out both its eyes.

The popobawa tried to flee,
But could not get away.
Again, again, Kiburi struck;
’Twas dead before the day.

Her valor great, her skill so fierce
The tribe tried to commend.
Kiburi, though, just shrugged it off;
“I couldn’t leave my friend.”

Another time, while they were at
Their tribe’s extremes of range
Kiburi drew the ire of
Uhlanga’s zebras strange.

A certain flower from that marsh
She took without a care.
Its guardians suddenly then appeared
As if straight from the air.

That type of flower was used within
The marsh in place of graves.
She’d desecrated their last queen;
She’d need to be enslaved.

Her trav’ling partner Maele was,
And, thinking fast, she said,
That if Kiburi did stay free,
She’d give them spears instead.

Now, swamps are wet and mucky things;
Good spears are hard to find.
This tantalizing offer did
Ignite the guardians’ minds.

So back and forth, they argued long;
The day turned into night.
’Til finally, they settled on
Some terms they both found right.

The groups, though wary of each other,
Parted ways in peace.
By Maele, poor Kiburi didn’t
Die for her caprice.

And though their paths split as they grew,
Each one gone to their caste,
They yet remained as thick as thieves;
Their friendship still held fast.

Kiburi sought her family’s line
And learned the arts of war
While Maelewano looked beyond
This world to something more.





Although we present zebras have
No skill in arts arcane,
In days of old, most every tribe
Had shamares to its name.

They talked with spirits of the land
And everything that lived.
They learned what little that they could,
For earth had much to give.

With proper rites, with potent minds,
They called up powers fey
And in exchange for offerings,
Those powers did obey.

This knowledge has been lost to time
But we have stories still
Of all the strange unworldly things
Accomplished by their skills.

Eternal blades and healing salves
And potions of all kinds
Were but the start of shamares’ crafts
When following earth’s designs.

And if one’s skill was great enough,
Then death was not the last.
They could reach out beyond the world
To generations past.

Ancestors could be called upon,
Brought from the afterlife,
To give the living wisdom great
Or simply some advice.

When Maelewano found her place
In these traditions strange,
Her knowledge blossomed, day by day,
’Til unmatched was her range.

The boundaries splitting life and death,
She walked with skill and grace.
Her ancestors said she was famed
Among the resting place.

The patterns of the earth she learned,
Its secrets old dredged up.
Her medicines could turn back death
With but a single cup.

But learning she did never hoard,
Not solely for herself.
She found disciples great and poor
To teach the ways of health.

And as her mystic power grew,
So did her prominence
Until her reputation was
Her tribe’s most fine defense.

The greater shamares, though well-known,
Were few and far between
So one who held her arcane might
Most tribes had never seen.

This might have been her claim to fame,
She cast so wonderfully.
But none could know the time would come
When magic ceased to be.