Herb, Sage Of The Council Of Mongolia

Every full moon, somewhere on the plains of the vast Gobi Desert of  Mongolia, Herb, the shrub would appear. His presence was always accompanied by great fanfare, although he was often confused for a common tumbling Tumbleweed.

Animals would seek council from wise old Herb. Even the migrating birds would turn and follow the path of moonlight to where the great sage sat. When all had come, only the sound of the whistling wind could be heard.

“Who is first?” his sharp solemn branches bristled.
“I am,” said the elk, with shimmering antlers that glowed in the silver light.
“The animals are fed up with all those greedy humans who hunt our flesh and sell our skins for profit.”
“What do you propose?” thistled Herb, patiently waiting for a response from the silent crowd.

Along came Ixodidea, the tick who suggested: “We mite seek vengeance by carrying disease to humans, spreading it far and wide”, as his eight legs moved slowly.
“Wouldn’t that mean the innocent as well as the guilty would be infected?” mumbled Herb.
“Probably,” said a crawling fish who added, “but if we don’t do anything, there won’t be any animals in the world left.”
“Then they would hunt themselves,” laughed the hyena.
“How could they do that?” said the dodo bird.

“Being extinct means never having anything to say or a way to say it,” shouted the hiena.
“Now that’s downright loony,” said the duck, who added daftly to the elk, “besides, you’re no Harry Potter Petronas!”
“Beep, Beep,” passed the roadrunner in a cloud of dust.

“Stop bickering,” responded Herb the shrub, sharply “we’d better find a solution.”
“I have an answer,” responded the mushroom shyly, “Suppose all the herbs around the world were given the power to heal. Then nasty humans could be infected by the flies and insects, while plants could save the good ones.”
“Hey, why do we have to be the ones to pass the scourge? What about rats,” cried the tic as the moonlight waned.
“Listen, it’s much more difficult to see insects at night,” quacked the duck. “Besides you’all just a bunch of luna Tics anyway.”
“Now that makes a whole lot of sense!” puzzled the owl.

“And I suppose we could ask the spirits to send visions to all the shamans to teach them how each herb heals,” said Herb, adding, “That’s been done by the Native Americans.”

“Hey,” squirmed the slug, “even though it isn’t exactly original, it doesn’t mean it’s not creative,” before being swallowed by the duck, who added as he chewed, “Besides, something that exists rearranged is just as original as what was in the beginning”, then adding, “and very tasty too.”