The soft, orange light of the rising sun paints our the entire valley in sweeping brushstrokes with its incandescent glow. The shining star freely grew our millets and rice crops. The fall harvest was going to be the best in a generation.

I breathe in the cool morning air feeling it tickle the insides of my nose and fall down my chest to my round belly, and then breathe out feeling the air rise up through my body and out of my nose again. But breathing comes with effort, and aches of my bones are constant. Though, I have pissed thrice during the long night, my bladder pains me once more.

I walk, slow like a snail, by the river near my hut. The wide current of water is the cradle of our people. My name is Bo and I am human. You should also know, I am dying and I recall my regrets painfully. Each thorn from vines wrapping around my barely beating heart.

The blood on my hands… the glowing device warned of those who would call themselves magic or divine. They would, by seeking what was best for them, keep all the extra food for themselves. So when Xiang, one of the smartest among us and he who helped guide food collection, called himself a voice of god.

Some started to listen. They smiled at him like babes looking at their mother. They did everything he said. I ask for no forgiveness… I strangled him and dragged his carcass to give a feast to the crows.

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No longer could one stay as steward over the storagehouse. One summer then changed by law. I worry, if this will be enough, if after I am gone… another Xiang will rise and sway the people.

It was my duty. I am the woman with the greatest prestige among my people. There are little more than 30 of us. We are farmers, and have been for countless generations. What we were before is only known to us few who can read and write.

Unlike my sisters or sisterly-friends, I was unable to have a child. Instead, I worked harder in the fields and I gave grain than any other to those that needed it. We have always organised our village this way and I am happy for it.

I asked for nothing, but now that I am old they give me what I need without request.

The privilege of my prestige as the giver to the village was that I learnt to read and write off of the sun powered tool to put on my head and over my eyes. It was unreal. Showing my shapes, knowledge and colours I had never known.

When the time came I taught the next in our village. A man named Heng. Elders too have access so enough of us know the skill to save it from being lost. He learned well, and I trust in his generosity and determination.

From our ancestors' time the tool told us what the weather was going to be, of the sun's movements and of what grows best and how to farm has been invaluable. It also contains delights. I have never seen a real painting, but the glowing tool has shown them to me.

We have managed to store so much food that we survived famine and disasters. Far better than our ancestors. Some of our less strong members even have had time to devote to ancient skills like crafting and the taming of animals.

Our future is bright as the rising sun, but I worry in my dying days about the night that comes after…