And so in the turn of the world
There were those who persisted, and when the Sun Serpent raised itself from its nest upon the Ashen Tree, hood unfurled to bathe the earth in its light, it passed over the Southern Wastes and granted those lingering people with a terrible gift - the blessing of Memory.
And the people decorated themselves in gold to honor the blessing of the Sun Serpent and in red as the Serpent enjoined them, to Remember the earth that had been lost to the Vine.
And the lingering peoples practiced lost arts. They Remembered, and scribed the Memory of the living so that it would not be lost to Time, and wove the Memory of the landāof the Wastes and before the Wastesāso that it would not be lost to the Vine. They became the Atlas-Bearers, ever creating and ever guided by their books and their woven cloth. Legends carried dutifully in their hands. Maps draped reverently upon their bodies. Ever wandering. Never lost. Always, always seeking to reclaim fragments of home from the Vine.
And among the Atlas-Bearing Folk there were those who were afflicted by the gold and the red to even deeper Memory. In dreams, in sudden insights, in visions unbidden they Remembered that which was no longer known. Remembered that which had not yet been. Some say prophecy tainted the very blood of the people of the Southern Wastes, others that it was inflicted by the Sun Serpentās passage.
The Atlas-Bearing Folk, the people of the Southern Wastes, thus Remember for now and for all time, until the Sun Serpentās passage returns it to the Ashen Tree, and the people are liberated from its blessing when the Ravens and Vultures snatch the last morsels of the Serpentās gift from those burdened to bear it. And when that time comes the People will remain, with their books and their woven cloth and their record of Memory. And the red earth of Southern Wastes will remain, untended and half-unknown. And the Vine will remain, growing and devouring lest home can be once more reclaimed.
