But soon, the dry heat caused the wood to shrink. The homes began to crack. Without the Root-Tenders’ moisture to keep the bark supple, the very stairs and halls of the village began to crumble.
The used their silk-weaving skills to create massive funnel-nets, stretching them across the highest peaks to catch the morning mist—moisture too thin for a single person, but massive when gathered together.
The were the first to suffer. Without rain, their high gardens withered. They cried out for water, but the Root-Tenders, bitter from years of being ignored, hoarded the deep-well reserves for themselves. "You have the sun," the Root-Tenders shouted up. "Drink that." But soon, the dry heat caused the wood to shrink
One summer, the Great Drought hit. For months, not a single drop of rain fell.
Finally, the Great Tree itself began to lean. Its leaves turned gray, failing to provide shade to the roots below. The ground cracked, and the Root-Tenders found themselves baking in the very earth that used to protect them. The used their silk-weaving skills to create massive
"The tree is dying because we have become separate branches," she shouted. "The roots cannot drink if the leaves do not shade the ground. The leaves cannot grow if the roots do not send up water. And none of us have a home if the trunk collapses." Desperation finally broke the pride of the guilds.
The used their knowledge of the earth to dig deep, redirected a distant, forgotten underground spring back toward the tree’s base. They cried out for water, but the Root-Tenders,
The built a network of hollowed-out bamboo pipes, a vertical veins system running from the canopy to the soil.