This was the first time it had rained in a hundred years. Even the oldest grandmother didn’t remember the last time it rained in this lonely desert town. Entire families stared open mouthed out of windows that had been dry ever since they could remember. And one boy sat with his abuelita, sing the local lullaby.

“Two go in, one comes out

The river valley dies in drought

Long ago the river flowed

The banks were always overflowed

Two go in, one comes out

Brothers long ago brought this about

One of Fire and Sun

The other Water danced where river runs

Two go in, one comes out

Fire jealous of Water’s sprout

Water brought life

Fire only brought strife

Two go in, one comes out

Brother Fire wished to rout

Calm water from his flowing bed

And filled his brother with dread

Fire raged across the land

And drove out Water with a heavy hand

But Fire went to far

The air was thick with the scent of char

Fire and Water had kept each other in check

And one, alone was met

With only pain and devastation

And on more than one occasion

Child, pride is a Fire

That overwhelms you with desire

To burn and take

Until all that is left is your mistake”

Somewhere throughout the song, the boy was joined by others, one by one. The song wove it’s way down to the old river bed, where two men embraced. One was thick and strong, with hair a red flame. The other was slim and rhythmic in his speech and movements, as he danced with his brother among the rain drops, singing the ancient song.