The Mother of their Mother, some two hundred and change cycles of the sun past, had seen and forever remembered the falling stars of the sky that turned to metal and split open, spilling a thousand million seeds into the world around them, and beginning the long and arduous process of changing the world that had been into the world that was.
Now they watched from a distant ridge as the new moon parked in the sky above, and as the eggs of that moon began to come down.
It stretched the wings that had once been middle limbs it walked upon, and looked through glowing eyes, pupils expanding and contracting as it sought the proper clarity of vision, and watched as the strange insect shaped craft split along the end and strange two legged creatures began to stumble out, unsteady yet somehow upright, not falling over as they began to run and they fanned out and they laughed and they cried and they shouted.
It had never had a name before. It chose one now. Tiamaris. That is what it would be called, and that sound would be the name of the one who ended these trespassers, these invaders, these Star Fallen.
And her children would remember this, and her children’s children, and their children, and so on down the ages.
Let Bahala welcome them if he would.
