This happened long ago. The village kept one fire in the square, with the old keeper, Sula, and her helper Yara, who was twelve. On the first night of frost the rain put the fire out. Winter was near, and the village had no flame.
Sula said, "There is fire on the Smoking Mountain, three days away." Yara, who was on watch when the fire died, went. She carried a clay pot with ash and moss.
At the mountain she lit a coal and put it in the pot. On the way back she crossed the river with the pot above her head. On the last morning the moss was gone, so she fed the ember her red scarf. At dawn she walked into the square with smoke rising from the pot. Sula blew, and a flame stood up.
