The people appeared upon the lush plain in a state of despair and need. They lost many during the exodus and more in the forest. Surely they had gone far enough now. Perhaps this place could shelter those who were left.
In a low area they found a spring feeding a large watering hole and they felt joy.
So few. Compared to what was, what could have been. But enough. They began to build. Shelter. Mere mounds of earth to begin; they dared not return to the forest. For food and fuels, wild beasts grazed the plains.
Great storms appeared and washed away much, so they found clay and rebuilt with brick.
It was good. It was better. But of course, the true danger was with them still. For we each carry it. We all want more for less. We discount the fate of the distant while plucking with our long long arms. And we are very good at convincing ourselves that it must be so.
The spring was life between the storms. Control of water was a clear community concern. None could be allowed to despoil it. The watering hole was large but not immense. There was water for people and bricks and even for the new farms when the rains lapsed, though it was tiresome and heavy work.
A sore farmer sought canals and diverting schemes. It was brought to a vote which the sore angry farmer won because no one wanted to fight and it was fine. The rains were usually enough. True, the spring could not support canals for all, but it could support some, and would they not all benefit?