When the trees of life and knowledge were planted, and the ocean was pushed far away above the sky, men and gods were free to roam the land at last, without fear of being plucked from the earth at any moment by the dark things. But though they were no longer so afraid, men were still fools and fell easily into such snares as the dark things set on the earth, and the gods wasted away most of their days doing nothing for anything or anyone but themselves, leaving the dark things to prey anywhere over the earth.

Trees do not have eyes to see, nor ears to hear, but they see the light with their leaves and feel the earth with their roots. In this way the trees of knowledge and life saw the dark things in the absence of light, and felt the dark things as they wounded the earth and stole life from it. Thus the trees of life and the trees of knowledge conspired together, and between them they had a daughter who they named Arimneste.

The woman named Arimneste grew from the soft earth in the shade of life and knowledge, and her skin was as pale as birch bark. Her eyes were as dark as a deep knot in the eldest tree’s bark, and her lips were the burnt red of leaves in the fall. There was no hair on her body, and so the birds came down from the sky and wove golden locks from the needles of pine trees. A tiny chickadee made a nest behind her left ear and so styled her hair in all such manners as a bird thought appropriate. She had no voice of her own, and so a nightingale flew into her mouth and made a nest in her throat. In this way her voice was always melodious and she could sing songs which would soothe all men and beasts.

She had no garments of her own, and so the spiders came down from the tree. Being the cleverest of the living things, they wove garments from leaves and silk, and made their home in Arimneste’s clothes. Thus born of the tree of life and knowledge, with birds to carry seeds in her hair and clever spiders in her clothes, she set off from the forest.

The first foolish man she saw was trying to grasp a fine cloth in a rope noose. “Fool!” she said. “Can you not see the noose which has caught so many more like you? What good will that cloth do when you are dragged up to the ocean above the sky?” The man admitted he had seen such things before, but he explained how cold some nights became, and that a garment from such fine cloth as was in the noose might keep him warm. “If you were not so foolish, you would weave your own garments. Here,” and this was addressed to one of her spiders. “Go with this man and teach him how to weave his own garments.” Thus commanded, the spider hopped from her dress to the fool’s shoulder, and soon he wove the most clever garments, and never foolishly tried to steal what he could make, and so spread the wisdom of weaving to all other men.

The next foolish man Arimneste came to see was plaintively chasing after an apple tied to a string. “Fool!” she said. “Can you not see this apple is the lure which has drawn so many others before you into the depths of the ocean? You will be just as hungry underwater!” The man agreed he had seen such things happen before, but he could not climb high enough to reach any of the other apples, and he thought if he was just quick enough he might have this one. “If you were less a fool, you would grow your own apples, and never hunger again. Here,” and this was addressed to the chickadee in her hair. “Go and fetch the sparrow that he might show this fool how to plant a seed and grow a tree.” Thus commanded, the chickadee flew about her task. The fool never tried to scavenge anything he could grow for himself, and grew the most delicious apples which would ever be tasted for centuries to come, and so spread the wisdom of farming to all other men.

The third foolish man the daughter of knowledge and life came to see was hacking with persistent futility at a dead branch gripped furiously in his hands. “Fool!” she said. “Why on earth do you stab at dead wood so violently?” The foolish man explained he had tripped over the large branch, and done grievous injury to his toe, and felt no small amount of pain in his ankle as well. “If you were less a fool, you would use your knife last and your hands first! Now sit down with me and I will show you a weapon sharper than any blade.” Thus she took the man aside and taught him to write with all the help her birds and spiders could muster. He never acted so foolishly again, and became the greatest writer the world would see until the lady Night found the moon. He spread the wisdom of writing to other men, so that all the wisdom of Arimneste would not be lost to the world thereafter.

The woman named Arimneste traveled far beyond the forest of the world and the sky, for she was the stuff of life and knowledge, and the dark things could not harm her or touch her. Her spiders taught men all manner of crafts and her birds showed men how they need never want for food or drink, and she herself taught all men how to record things that they would not forget. When at last she grew old and could travel no further, she held up her arms and her feet took root. Each of her fingers became a branch, and each branch bore the fruit of wisdom. Her fruit would nourish men ever after and, wherever one of her seeds was planted, she would rise from the earth again, and go forth, and teach.