There's a tale in Cicada. They say there is a great warrior, hidden away, waiting for the right time to return, for the time when the rains return. And like all good tales, it has a kernel of the truth.

The village is small, little more than a hub for local farmers to come together. Most maps don't bother to show it. Few understand why it is there. Those who ignore the legend assume it was just for the spring nearby.

The name is a reference to the warrior, of course. And the town came up around them, not the other way around. In spite of what the older folks tell you, the warrior has yet to defend this town.

Many wrongly assume the statue in the square is the warrior. A purposely encouraged mistake, to hide the truth. Some who dive deep into the history believe they are the gnarled dogwood tree that has lasted far beyond its time. Another lie I told before we installed the statue.

The town came to be when farmers would see me, checking on my old friend. They'd walk over and start to chat and catch a drink. Soon, it became the place to meet, even when I wasn't there.

They knew a bit, pieced together from my visits, and realized I was visiting a friend, transmogrified long ago. Generations came and went, details were lost or changed. Some were made up. I quit correcting them.

Now, all this time later, I came back, storm clouds following me. I kept ahead of them, but not too far. I was terrified they'd break, or veer off. This land had been cursed, long before, to be a desert. No rain, no water, as a punishment for our actions. It was supposed to be forever. It certainly felt like it had been forever.

But I had done it. I had outdone our old gods. I had finally broken the curse. A storm was coming. Rains to water the land.

Those who knew my goal laughed at me. Why fight for rain when our lands had the water we needed? The spring gave us more than enough.

Each home I passed, farmers were hurrying, boarding up windows and battening down the hatches. As I came through the town, people were panicked, terrified of change. I came to the edge of the spring and I waited. I waited for the rains. I watched them cross the sky.

I had used the stone, all this time, to do my work, to reach my goals. She'd told me to take it. She didn't want any temptation to come back early. But I knew she felt it all. Every day passing, every bucket of water pulled, every plant and person growing from her sacrifice.

As the first drops fell on us, I dropped the stone back in the spring.