There came a certain day which, like most days there, was hot as only Selistan can be. You northerners never seem able to understand how it is that we can live beneath our larger sun. In the burning lands of the south, the daystar is not just light, but fire. Its heat falls like rain through air that one could slice with a table knife. That warmth was always on me, a hand pressing down upon my head to wrack my hair with sweat and make me itch.
I played amid a stand of plantains. Their flowers cascaded in a maroon promise of the sweet, sticky goodness to come. The fat stalks were friends of some green jungle race, come to tell me the secrets of the rain. I had made up my mind to be queen of water, for it was water which ruled over everything in our village. Warm mud was caked upon my feet from my sojourns in the ditches planning the coming of my magical queendom.