Woken from her vision, she opened her eyes to see a girl of perhaps four years walking alongside her older brother a little farther down the slope. Ruth noted the tangles in their hair and the hollows in their cheeks. She then overheard them speaking.

“Can we sit, brother? My stomach hurts,” the girl said.

“We can rest for a little,” he answered. “But we must be home before dusk.” The boy glanced around them. Seeing a sage plant, he went to pluck a sprig from its middle. “Here, chew on these leaves. One of the healer’s sisters said it is good for bellyaches.”

The girl took the sage and popped it between her lips. After a bit, she asked, “Brother? Why does the healer say that our mother is a seed?”

The boy laughed. “That is not exactly what he says,” he told her, grinning. He patted her on the head and went on to explain. “The healer says that knowledge of the Mother is like the seeds that farmers sow in the fields. And that the seeds’ growth depends on the soil in which they land. Some of the farmer’s seeds land in the shade, and are stunted. Some land in the thorns, and die soon after they sprout. While others land in good soil, and these take hold and blossom to great heights. That is like what happens when someone accepts knowledge of the Mother into their hearts. Do you understand?”

The girl frowned. “I suppose. But … what happened to the Father?”

Ruth smiled above them. Impressed.

“Nothing happened to him!” the boy replied. “It is just that some people have tried to raise the Father above the Mother, and some have even set out to extinguish her! They do this by making us afraid to acknowledge her—or to remember that we, like all of Creation, are born of a womb—and must honor this truth in our lives. And not forget.”

“So is he saying we should be nicer to our mother?”

The boy nodded. “That is part of it. But it also means that we must treat all women, and all children of women, with greater respect. Just as we must treat that which brings everything into being, the Mother of All, with respect and gratitude. If we forget to honor that which nurtures life, then the Mother begins to wither, and we wither along with her, like the seeds that land on rocks.”

The girl went silent. Her brows knit as she considered what her brother had said.

“Does your stomach feel better?”

She nodded. Then, without warning, leapt to her feet.

“Wait! Where are you going?” her brother cried as she darted off.

“We have to get home and find the farmer!” his sister called over her shoulder.

“What farmer?”

“The one with the seeds. We have to make sure he finds good soil so Mother can blossom!”