The Old Legend
A story by the evening fire
My name is Saki, and I live in a small .
Tall green mountains stand around our quiet .
A runs through the middle of it.
Last night, my grandmother told me an old story.
We sat together by the warm fire after dinner.
"Long ago, a lived in our ," she said.
The people called him the of the water.
Every year, they gave him rice and fresh vegetables.
In return, the kept the clean and full.
"The never dried, and the rice always grew," she said.
I listened to her, but I did not it.
"Grandmother, that is only an old story," I said.
She smiled softly and looked into the orange fire.
"Many people the now," she said quietly.
"But the still remembers every one of us."
I thought her words were sweet but a little strange.
Spirits are not real, and rivers cannot think.
Still, I liked the sound of the old .
That night, I dreamed about the deep green water.
In my , two round eyes watched me quietly.
I woke up early and looked out my window.
The shone like silver under the morning sun.
Grandmother's story stayed inside my head all day.
Maybe the really keeps a very old .