The wind caused the flap of our tipi to rattle, father went and tied it more securely while mother tucked my siblings into the furs for the night. The tribe was camped along the river though we'd had to move recently due to rains that had caused the water to swell. Once father sat down, I watched as he was taking an arrow that had broken and was repairing it, shaving the wood carefully, repurposing it for a smaller training bow for my siblings. Then it occurred to me, why keep a broken one when a new one could be made? When I asked my father this, he smiled upon me softly and said gently. "Let me tell you the story of the man who lived within a very small forest, and only used new arrows." -- Anon Guest
[AN: Yeah I'm too white to look sideways at native populations' legends. Not making up new ones, not stealing extant ones. Nope. Going to take this as inspiration and take another angle at it]
The water was fresh and clean and stretched to the horizon. There was no end to it. It was perfect. The forest nearby was plentiful and full of game. The stone for tools was close to the surface and easily available. It was almost as if it was made to be inhabited. Call it... Eden.
There was absolutely no way any of this could possibly run out. It went on forever. The humans who came into the area immediately settled in and started using everything that came to hand. They could have everything they wanted. First, they found the best spot to put the storehouse, knocking down all the trees that were in the way to create it in the process. Surrounding it were huts and homes that were convenient for those who dwelt there. Of course, they had to pull out stumps and dig ditches for the crops they wanted to grow. And clear land for their animal pens.
The fish were plentiful in the nearby lake and nobody saw anything wrong with dumping their waste into the river's water. The water was always fresh and clean and it went into the lake, which went forever. They could put anything into the water without consequence. They could fish all they wanted and there would be more fish there. They could hunt all they wanted and there would still be game in the woods. There was no end to it, or so they believed. For as much as four generations, all was well. Long enough for plenty to be normal.