But soon, the dry heat caused the wood to shrink. The homes began to crack. Without the Root-Tenders’ moisture to keep the bark supple, the very stairs and halls of the village began to crumble.
Finally, the Great Tree itself began to lean. Its leaves turned gray, failing to provide shade to the roots below. The ground cracked, and the Root-Tenders found themselves baking in the very earth that used to protect them.
By the time the autumn rains finally arrived, the village had changed. The gates between the levels were gone. They realized that unity wasn't about everyone doing the same job—it was about realizing that no matter how high or low you lived, you were all nourished by the same sap. But soon, the dry heat caused the wood to shrink
As the Root-Tenders pumped the spring water, the Trunk-Keepers guided it upward through their pipes. The Leaf-Watchers used the water to revive the canopy, which in turn cooled the earth, allowing the Root-Tenders to work without heatstroke.
One summer, the Great Drought hit. For months, not a single drop of rain fell. Finally, the Great Tree itself began to lean
Should we focus a future story on a like "sacrifice," or
The used their knowledge of the earth to dig deep, redirected a distant, forgotten underground spring back toward the tree’s base. By the time the autumn rains finally arrived,
The were the first to suffer. Without rain, their high gardens withered. They cried out for water, but the Root-Tenders, bitter from years of being ignored, hoarded the deep-well reserves for themselves. "You have the sun," the Root-Tenders shouted up. "Drink that."