The Chief of Defense came in the room, along with the Trade Manager, and a few other people I recognized but didn't have the time to name.
“Hello everyone and thanks for coming to the migration conference. There were supposed to be snacks, but I guess they haven't arrived yet. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
I gulped. I should be the one sorry for that ‘inconvenience’, but I kept my mouth shut.
“This also happens to be my son’s first official meeting so it is a very special day indeed.” My father put a hand in my direction. Everyone stared at me for a minute while I felt like I was an ant being examined under a microscope.
I mainly watched all the adults talk about the economy, weather regulations, all stuff I hardly understood. It was awkward, me feeling like a five year old watching a show not made for my age group.
Finally, we got to the interesting stuff.
“The Sun tribe has stopped giving us much food, Queen Nightshade,” the Trade manager told her.
“I’ve heard,” my mother started. “It appears this year they're being quite stingy. Maybe we should stop importing fresh water to their spot on the coast and see if that will teach them to mess with the Moon tribe.”
I didn’t like the sound of this. Yes, the Sun tribe had not been handing over as much food as they did last year and that was a problem, but us giving them less water sounds like a bad move for all of us, as I always hear the Sun tribe people are VERY barbaric and don’t mind a very brutal war over the simplest of things. Rumor had it that they had killer fire bombs, and I didn’t want a war between the tribes.
“Those stupid anarchists, probably couldn’t even decide how to distribute food amongst themselves. I’m tired of having to deal with them. Let’s cut them off of the weather reports too and then they’ll be forced to give us more food out of desperation.”
I decided to try and step in. “Hey Ma, let’s not go too far, maybe their harvest didn’t go so well last season. They could be having a rough time in their country. Bad soil, or maybe the animals ate most of their food this year.”
Everyone stopped and looked at me. Not much people beside my father contradicted the queen. Now it was time to see if I could.
“You’re giving them much too many excuses dear,” Ma started off quietly. “Last season was Autumn. Autumn is the SEASON OF HARVESTING! You’re telling me those people didn’t have enough crops in the harvesting season!?” my mother was starting to raise her voice. I almost backed up out of fear, but I held my ground.
“Wait Ma, calm down. Look, all I’m saying is that those are possibilities of why they didn’t export many crops. If they do that next season, then we’ll know it was on purpose and we can do something about it. But if it’s just this season, let’s just let it go. After all, they are people.”
My mother huffed. “Barely.”
Few.
To get a closer look at the map of Zemlya, the Chief of Geographical Transportation and Economic development scooted up. That title is a mouthful, but from what I’ve learned, basically her job is to help lead a safe and easy way for our whole country to move south without causing conflict with the Sun tribe. “King Crater, have you chosen a specified path for the country to get south?” she asked.
“I’ve been trying to find a path to avoid them all week, but I keep getting stuck because after they get to The Plains, I don’t know where they're going to head next.” my father explained.
“Hmm, running into them may be a problem… well, I don’t see how we’re going to find out where they’ll go next.” The Chief answered.
I decided to try my luck at talking again. “What if we migrate early?”
Everyone in the room looked at me.
“Think about it. If we leave earlier than them, we won’t have to think about their next move.That way we’ll have no chance of bumping into the Sun tribe because by the time they get moving, we’ll already be south.”
My father smiled. “Y’know, that’s not a bad idea. Everyone agree?” He looked around the table, eyebrows raised. No one challenged my idea.
The Chief of Transportation began to write something down. “I guess it’s settled then. We’ll migrate early.”
As soon as everyone left the room, my mother and father turned and smiled at me.
“Ya did good son. You nailed your first meeting.” Dad handed me a fist bump.
“Look at my son, making all the right decisions!” Ma gushed at me.
That’s when the waitress from earlier came in. “Prince Fog had crashed into me on the stairs and I was unable to bring up the treats you ordered for the meeting!” she yelled.
My Ma and Dad turned to me.
“Oops,” was all I could think to say.