None of this had ever happened before, and there was no folklore or history to use as a guide in determining how to handle the rapid increase in the population of the Swamp. The throngs of people had brought with them all sorts of items that were foreign and many of which were too heavy for the infrastructure of the community to hold. Stilts were cracking sooner than expected and repairs were eating up hours of every day, which meant that there were fewer hunter and fishers working shorter hours to feed many times more mouths. There was no way in Paradise the Rocks or Volcano citizens would be able to outfox a monkey or snare a bird, and too few were willing to get their feet wet in the swamp waters to check the nets or traps. And the desert dwellers were far too morally opposed to be trusted to gather the protein for the evening. They, at least, were willing to help the youngest tads in the rice fields.

The foreigners had brought more than just stuff. They’d brought filth and pollution. They’d brought garbage and crime and a class system that was so backwards to the swampies, they found themselves regulated to the very bottom despite this being their land. The refugees were rude and crude and treated the swampies like filth; they made their mud jokes at the expense of the swampies without a care in the world for what the words they were using actually meant. Feuds and spats had broken out several times per day between residents of the Rock and those of the Volcano, each of whom had far more pride than sense, and one more than one occasion, tads were caught in the cross fires of spitter wars. They didn’t know any better, Rock tech hadn’t penetrated this far into the Swamp yet. Sure some near the mainland had small pieces that had been traded, few in the family had had experience with the painful device.

Minnow pushed through the crowd and across a bridge that was becoming less and less stable as more refugees stomped across it in their heavy boots. Unlike other ker, who needed footwear to protect them from scorching sand or stone, or the sharp rocks around their home kingdoms, the swampies more frequently went barefooted. Clothing also covered less skin than the other kingdoms were used to, as the idea of sex for anything beyond procreation was also alien to the swamp dwellers. More than one man had been overly forward with a swamp girl, including Minnow, and found themselves eating the very mud they mocked the swampies for. Of course, those men were then ridiculed as being interested in a mud eater, or a sheet slimmer or whatever other slurs they could think of, as well as being bested by one.

Pyre, who continued to attract attention, some good and some bad, aided Minnow in her movement through the crowd, shifting the flames that acted as mane and tail from cold to hot when the onlookers got too close. It would have been easier to ride, but Minnow didn’t want to risk burns to her legs and being one less resource to find food.

Eventually the pair came to the long dock, which led to the area of the swamp with the deepest water. Empty of people, most of whom couldn’t swim and were afraid of the lack of protective ropes on the side, Minnow finally climbed onto Pyre’s back to move faster. They had a job to do: check the largest nets in hope that a bit catch might be waiting. When they arrived, there was a big fish caught in the net, but it was not the type any ker would be willing to eat. A young man, Vulcan by the looked of his hair, although it was damp and muddy so the color was not as vibrant is it might have been, had his leg caught in the nets and was struggling to get free.

With a sigh, Minnow dismounted and prepared to dive into the water to help free him (what would Birch think if one of the refugees, who had come to the swamp for safety, was killed here?) before she saw the bubbles just beside him. She frowned, hoping there wasn’t a second future drowning victim lower in the net, but was momentarily relieved when a head popped up and the man moved away from the floats marking the location of the ropes. The man had had his back to Minnow, but the woman who had rescued him was facing her. Minnow’s eyes flashed through a variety of emotion – shock, anger, disgust, awe, and finally settled on an air of smugness – as she watched the happiness and tenderness in the woman’s eyes. That smug look was the only one Fern saw when she spotted Minnow there on the dock, looking at her and Flint.

“Please, Minn, you can’t! You can’t tell Birch anything! Come on, I’ve kept plenty of your secrets.” Never before had Minnow been on this side of the table, listening to another family member beg her for something. And begging was what Fern was doing as she climbed out of the water and turned to help the man onto the dock. “She’ll kill me,” the older girl whispered. Fern had never been as good at getting out of trouble as her younger sister, and as such had been the goody-two-tail her whole life. It was a sweet feeling for Minnow to see the golden beacon of the family fall quite literally into the mud.

“I highly doubt anyone would kill y-” the man began before a silencing look from both Fern and Minnow quieted him. He was foreign and didn’t know how things worked here. Certainly it was not uncommon for love to blossom, especially in the young adult ker, like Fern. In love, swampies would spend time hunting together, visiting one another’s families, and hope that they would be arranged together at least once, assuming both were deemed ready and worthy of having a tad. But to fall in love with someone from outside the Swamp was as big, if not a bigger scandal than having a loveling tad. Those from the Rock or the Desert or the Volcano didn’t understand that cultural paradigm. They mated whoever they liked, and those who did fall under their spell often fell into that pattern as well.

“He… I was just… Flint wanted to learn to swim, so I was teaching him. That’s all! Please, Minnow, she doesn’t need to know. Besides, how would that make the whole family look?”

Struck by the pitiful attempt at the large eyed tad look that her sister had never had to perfect, and the hopelessness in Fern’s voice that she needed her troublemaking sisters help for anything, Minnow nodded slowly. “He tried on his own and you rescued him. And then… Flint, is it?” Minnow conceded before addressing the boy for the first time as she hatched a plan. “You can ask Birch for lessons. If it doesn’t keep Fern from her other chores.” Minnow turned back to her older sister. Enough time in trouble had created a mind that could twist the rules and find excuses and loopholes. “Pitch it like, if he learns to swim, he can help with the nets and traps and stuff. We need all the help we can get, right? She can’t say no.”

Despite the help, Minnow was not expecting the tearful hug from Fern, but it was exactly what she got. She didn’t mind, of course, even with the water dripping from her sister, but as touchy feely as swampies could sometimes be within their families, Minnow found herself more often on the receiving end of an annoyed whack than a gracious hug. She returned the affection before glancing up at the sky. The lagoon was one of the few places around the community where the tree cover was sparse enough, due to the depth of the water, to see the sky clearly for a good distance. The bright blue featured the smaller of the suns, but shadow was quickly approaching and the wind lifted as the sister’s separated.

“We should go. If they nets aren’t full now, they will be. That looks an awful lot like a hurricane,” Minnow said, causing Fern to double check the sky before nodding in agreement. Pyre was the first to take off running, as she hated the rain and storms that plagued the Swamp, and the trio of ker followed her back to the community and into the main hall to find Birch. The family, and everyone who was camping in the community, needed to be warned.