Dhoyalam was awash with activity, with at least twice its regular population busied by fires and on the beaches. For today, Dhoyalam was hosting a celebration of the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year and a time of great worship and celebration. The village was playing host to men and women from a number of a number of other villages both close and far, most of which had at one point been settled by groups that left Dhoyalam as its population grew.

As was typical, most of the visitors arrived by sea. True, some of the more inland Abanye had walked over land to reach the festival, but for most of the visitors boats had provided fast and economical transport. At least a score of unfamiliar boats had been beached and pulled above the waterline, so that they might not float away during the festivities which promised to stretch well into the night.

Later in the day would be a feast, or at least what passed for a feast to the Abanye. Boar and deer supplemented fish and shellfish, with the sheer quantity of red meat marking the occasion as a true and rare celebration. After the feast, prayers to the Shin (Gods) would commence with song, dance, and prayer. Few didn't look forward to the celebrations of the Solstice.

However, before the festivities began in earnest and while the cooking and preparation was still underway, a more humble but equally important role of the Solstice was being performed. The Summer Solstice was an opportunity of many different communities to come together, swapping stories and hearsay, and perhaps even trading goods with each other. It was on the beaches, overlooking the boats pulled ashore, that a conversation had emerged between Yurh-Tirhid and Zheng-Fehn, two men of villages at least a week distant, who had become friends as youth at a similar festival.

"I still find it hard to believe you were named Watum, Yurh-Tirhid Yan. When we last spoke neither of us had come of age, and never did I dream then that one of us would become a leader." said Zheng-Fen.

"Dispense with the formality, my friend," replied Yurh-Tirhihd, "we've known each other too long to put rank in the way." Zheng-Fehn shrugged, conceding the point.

The two sat silently for a short while, overlooking the boats on the beaches. As was typical for a visit of this scale, many of the boats present were Rizukab, and they were usually easy to pick out. Made from planks in order to lend the boat a unique sweeping shape and bearing stylized prows and other ornamentation, none could confuse a Rizukab for a mere fishing boat. However, when looking across the Rizukab present, it was clear not all were equal.

Several of these boats featured banks of oars, drawn into the hull but blades still visible, by virtue of their place resting in carved oarlocks. Oarlocks were not new; they had been used for generations in the waters of the Abanye, but still not every vessel had them. Even some older Rizukab lacked them, as a Watum may not wish to deface the ceremonial boat in order to add the utility. Despite this, the majority of boats present had oars. The same could not be said for the other immediately noticeable difference.

On roughly a third of the boats, mostly those from communities of the western forests, large square cloths hung from a wooden spar, itself held aloft by a tall wooden pole fixed in the center of the boat. The use of the cloth was no longer esoteric; most men had seen Abanye ships driving themselves by the winds of the Twins, rather than relying on the labor of oarsmen for the entire journey. Nonetheless, it was still relatively uncommon to see a Rizukab with a full sail in complement to its oars. However, this is exactly what Zheng-Fehn observed about Zultan, Yurh-Tirhid's Rizukab.

"I see your village makes use of the sail as well." said Zheng-Fehn, in a bid to once again spark conversation.

"We have used it since I was a youth, Zheng-Fehn Yin" began Yurh-Tirhid in reply, "I would assume you had noticed in the past."

"You must go light on me, I was far from an observant youth!" protested Zheng-Fehn, prompting a chuckle from both men. "Still, I have always wondered about what drove us to start," continued Zheng-Fehn. "Though the Twins grace us with wind every day, it seems a great leap to catch it in great sheets."

"You know, as the Watum before me tells the story, we Abanye cannot actually claim to have made the leap." said Yurh-Tirhid. "This is a bit of a tale, and it may be legend, but it seems reasonable enough to me. When we people of the song first headed west into the thicker forests, we were not the only people to be found. There were these locals who spoke in a language we could not understand. There weren't many of them, and they were not nearly as advanced as any of the Luturru, but they were not without their innovations. They lived in tiny round huts and didn't know enough to grow their own food. Their boats were small; little more than round reed-woven baskets that took them far enough from shore to reach good fishing. But the manner in which they drove these small boat put us Luturru to shame for a time."

"You see, these people fished nearly daily, sustaining a great deal of their diet on the sea. But rather than use their own sweat to head out and back every day, they made use of what the Shin provide. Every morning they rode out with the tide, paddling only when necessary, and fish away from shore. But when it was time to return to shore, they reportedly held mats of reed as wide as their outstretched arms aloft, catching the sea breeze and being pulled by it back to shore. To see them return is like witnessing a flock of birds on the surface of the sea, or so the elders say. Many mats held aloft, all pulling a boat, fisherman, and his catch ashore."

"Now, of course, we Luturru have the knowledge and skill to make true use of this idea. The primitive forest people probably still exist, but they have been forced south around the bend of the coast as our numbers grow, and probably are continuing their primitive ways in the south even as we speak. But the Luturru have done justice by their little reed mats, and we now string great sheets of woven jute between spars of wood. Even the largest Rizukab can now be drawn by wind. The oarsmen are only needed when the wind is blowing at your head. I believe that by the time you are one of the old men of your village, there won't be a family who doesn't use the sail on their boats."

"The story is fascinating," agreed Zheng-Fehn, "though I'm surprised you would admit to stealing the idea from primitive Ilutar such as them. You could have claimed to be the inventor of sails yourself, and i would be none the wiser!"

Yurh-Tirhid let out a chuckle at that, which Zheng-Fehn copied in short order. "My village may be proud, but we are also honest. I don't feel ashamed of giving those Ilutar this one small victory, for their lot in the world must be unenviable besides it. And don't you forget that it is we west woods Abanye that perfected their primitive invention far beyond what they could ever have envisioned. The sail on Zultan is still very much of Abanye invention."

The two sat in companionable silence for a time after that, simply staring out at the boats as the tide inched ever higher. Zheng-Fehn for one found he was taking new notice of the wind: how it rustled the trees and his hair, the direction it hailed from, and the way it pushed the water. Maybe he should try his hardest to bring sails in full to Dhoyalam. Imagine how much farther they could travel if the wind itself bore them? Maybe his visits with Yurh-Tirhid would not need to be reserved for only the most special of occasions.