Rice

As dawn's first light kissed the horizon, the rice paddocks of the Great River awoke to the symphony of nature. Birds chirped in the canopy of date palms, and the gentle rush of water flowed through the irrigation channels like a serenade. Amidst this tranquil landscape, the bustling activity of the village of Nahrin came to life.
Farah, a young woman of bright spirit and tireless energy, stooped low to plant the first rice seedling of the day. Her fingers, caked with rich, loamy soil, worked with practiced precision. Nearby, her father, Omar, checked the water levels, ensuring that each paddy received just the right amount of life-giving moisture.
As she worked, Farah hummed a melody passed down through generations, a song meant to invoke the blessings of the River God. The tune was contagious, and soon other villagers joined in, their voices blending into a ragged harmony.
"Farah, your voice could make the fields bloom even in the dead of winter," called out Aziz, a neighboring farmer with a toothy grin.
She laughed, her eyes sparkling like the dew on the rice stalks. "Then we must sing all the louder, for the harvest this year speaks of promises untold!"
Despite the backbreaking work, there was a palpable sense of community and purpose. Each villager played a vital role - Sabra and her children hand-watered the more fragile sprouts, while elderly Farid spun tales from his youth to entertain and educate the younger generations.
As the sun climbed higher, the air grew thick and humid. The villagers took a break under the shade of a large date palm, sharing a simple meal of bread, cheese, and dates. A pitcher of cool river water passed from hand to hand, quenching both thirst and camaraderie. Omar, seeing Farah's flushed cheeks, placed a protective arm around her.
"You work too hard, my daughter," he said gently. "Remember, the field’s bounty is only as good as the strength of those who till it. Rest now."
Reluctantly, Farah sat and listened to her father's stories of her mother, who had once sung the same rice songs. Her mother's spirit seemed to linger in the fields, guiding her hands and heart. NEW ENDING

Nestled along the serpentine curves of the Great River, most villages are surrounded by rice paddies their emerald-green stalks slowly swaying in the gentle breeze like a green ocean. This tranquil sight belies the backbreaking labor and ingenuity that makes their growth possible - for the desert does not loosen its grasp willingly,

Tilling the fields

The fertile area around the Great River are perfectly suited for rice cultivation. The soil is rich and loamy, fed by annual floods that deposit nutrient-laden silt. The climate is warm and humid, a must for the tender and vulnerable rice plants that require persistent water for growth. Painstaikenly maintained irrigation channels spider-web out from the river, transforming the terrain into a mosaic of shimmering fields - clearing those of the everencroaching sand is a daily task.
Tilling the fields is a communal effort. From planting to harvest, each stage demands meticulous attention and exhaustive labor from the entire village.
At dawn or twilight, families (young and old alike) carefully plant seedlings in the paddies,for neither man nor plant can bear the heat of the midday sun without consequences.
During the growing season, the rice paddies change into a lush green border, a coastline against the endless desert sea.
While there are more than ten different kinds of rice, its cultivation almost always works the same way - with a few notable exceptions. Seed Selection: Only the finest grains are chosen for planting. These seeds are believed to carry the blessings of the gods themselves. Before planting, they are soaked in river water for three days under constant vigil - for the timing is absolutely crucial. Too short and the seeds dont sprout, too long and they wither in the fields. Paddy Maintenance
The paddies require constant attention. Farmers often place scarecrows made from woven palm fronds to deter birds and keep the dug irrigation paths clear of sand - a neverending, tiring battle against the desert itself. Harvest Time
The whole villages come alive with music, dance, and feasting. Men and women work together, sickles in hand, hoping for a rich harvest and the caravans, usually in town days before bring tales and goods from all over the continent.

TRADE

The trade routes along the Great River and beyond are long and fraught with perils. Caravans laden with rice and other riches travel these routes, guarded by mercenaries hired to fend off bandits and wildlife. Boats and barges sail down the Great River, their hulls filled to the brim with rice. These vessels are the lifeline for trade between distant settlements, and the river itself is considered a sacred pathway for commerce.
Within the great cities of Ri'kahar, the rice trade plays a crucial role in the economy. An abundant harvest lets villagers and traders alike prosper, while a poor harvest can spell economic ruin and famine. The vibrant marketplaces of cities like Al'Nahar and Al'Rihar are bustling with merchants eager to buy and sell, their stalls lined with sacks full of different kinds and qualities, each single graina tiny gem of the fields. This network of traders, merchants, and caravans that crisscross the region often regard rice as a currency of its own - one equally valued to jingling coin. jingling