‘Mother, look at the river! All the fish are dead!’
Naida swallowed and emerged from the undergrowth to see her young son standing by the riverbank, looking out at the rushing water beyond. The river, which usually gushed blue and was filled with energetic silver fish, was now a dull mud colour. The fish were lifeless, their bodies carried by nothing but the river’s flow.
She had noticed the river’s decline in health two days ago, when dark stains appeared within its depths, and had warned everyone not to collect water from it unless they were desperate, hoping that by now any danger to them might have passed. But it hadn’t, and now their water stores were running dry, even with the help of the forest’s daily downpour. Something had to be done, for if there was something in the water pow
