(100-word flash fiction)
“No rain for four years.” The shaman, grim-faced, is bending over a plant.
“It was hard when we had no rain for two summers. We barely survived.” The tribesman standing behind him sounds worried.
The shaman turns away from the clump of thorny brush to gaze at the bleached, shimmering sky. Already, in his bones he can feel the moisture ebbing from the land like a mother feels the milk drying up inside her.
“But good will come.” His face softens. “We will survive. But the white man, he won’t. He will flee. The land will be ours once again.”
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Story submission for the Friday Fictioneers photo prompt below –
Just Joyfulness 
Well they say every cloud has a sliver lining…
Thanks for dropping in.
A wise shaman sees the positive in every negative and keeps hope alive. Nice story.
Thanks Ansumani.
This sounds like the tribal people of the Australian outback. They can look for certain plants and find water. The knowledge of how survive in dry places is passed down through tribal lore. Good story and well written, Joy. 🙂 — Suzanne
Thanks Suzanne.