“Nephew, I had a dream last night.”
“Was it a good dream, Uncle?” The elder sat on the dirt in front of the priest.
“I do not know. Let me tell it to you. I think you can help me with it.” In the priest’s arms lay one of the babies. She drank from a leather teat, her little hands clutching it. The other lay nearby, playing with the fringe from his leather vest.
“In my dream, I returned to the Temple to find a village of tents. Everyone was young, from these infants to as old as just starting a beard. Each had the markings of their home village, and there were many represented. They were building a new lodge from wood from the Mother Tree. They were laughing and playing as they worked. Older ones were up high while the younger ones were down low. They took turns watching over those too young to help. Once the village was built, we all went to the Mother, who accepted the blood of everyone and everyone changed their village markings to one similar to the mark of the Temple.”
“Has their never been a village around the Temple before?”
“Not in many lifetimes. We sometimes found the stones of a foundation.”
“And everyone was children?”
“Yes. Some were just reaching the age of consent.”
“I do not understand how I can help you with this.”
The priest shifted the baby to his shoulder where he began patting her back. “Do you not know of a group of such children and youth?”
“With the markings of all the different villages? No, I do not.”
“Go and think on it.”