Legend

When the ice broke in spring, the river flooded so fast that the water burst into the carpenter’s shed before he could save his tools. One by one, the planks he built his boats from floated away. Only Tallulah Totonka’s Reeds stood firm in the bend, a dense clump, with small eddies of wind spinning above them.

Tallulah rowed up to the shed. The carpenter sat on the roof and waved her away.

“I’ll manage on my own,” he shouted. “I always have.”

The flood undercut the wall. The shed tilted and the carpenter fell into the water. The current swept him towards the bend.

“Grab hold!” Tallulah called, pointing to the clump.

He caught a single stalk and felt it about to snap. He caught a handful – and the clump held. The whole bed bent beneath him but would not give way, for under the water the roots were woven together like fingers.

Tallulah hauled him into the boat.

“A reed doesn’t break because it never stands alone,” she said. “Every stalk holds on by the roots of the others.”

In summer the carpenter built a new boat on the bank, and his neighbours carried the planks for him. Into its side he wove dried reeds from Tallulah.