The tragedy of Aénotén and Nuítalié is a foundational myth in the Shíïrífa faith, of the ill fated love between the God of the Loam and the former Goddess of Spring. It explains why weeds and thorns and thistles grow from the Earth during all seasons of the year, and why the flowers have their thorns.

It is a heavy truth of the world that the things that endure must suffer the things that come and go. 

Long before Nuítalié, the Goddess of Thorns shut her eyes to the beauty of the world, she danced in the light among the flowers as the Goddess of Spring. 

Statuesque, and ever beautiful, she was of the second generation of Gods, born to nature as a result of creation. 

Aénotén, God of the Loam, the diligent One, turned the soil and nurtured the ground from which all things grew, and from which none appreciated, for it is a thankless duty to serve the needs of all.

Day and night and season to season he toiled, until one spring came, and he received the attention of Nuítalié, who was basking in the sun.

“For whom do you work so diligently?” She asked him, while dancing merrily in a meadow.

“For you, and for all who reap the bounty of the land. The plants and the animals fall where they may, and who is it that returns them to the soil? For all who come from the ground must someday return, just as the beautiful Spring follows the cold Winter.”

She had not thought of this before and blushed at his compliment of her. And it was as if an arrow had pierced her heart, for she knew not of him and of his works until then. 

It was said that from then on she would meet him in the fields and in the meadows, her secret affections building until it burned her inside; like the spring days that burned away into the summer heat. 

The pair were close as companions, and as she accompanied him about his works they became closer. 

And so they came together as lovers, and she bore him children, who would become known as the “Hannataí”, the great ones.

She witnessed the others among them who would look down on him as if he were a common laborer, carelessly trampling upon the earth that he tilled. But Aénotén was one who was without malice in his heart and did not heed the slight. 

It was Nuítalié, a Goddess of the seasons, that held close the value of pride and the fires of conflict. Despite her protests, Aénotén remained silent, ever stable in his sacrifice until her wrath became directed at him.

Haléma, the Goddess of Flowers who was close in friendship to them came to know Aénotén’s efforts and appreciated them as Nuítalié did before her. 

It was during a certain night in summer when Haléma approached him.

“In the warm days of the long summer sun I have seen you toiling in the fields. In the crisp nights of the blustery autumn, I have seen you tilling your soil. In the frozen winds of winter, I have seen you.”

He looked at her then.

“And I have seen you in the fickle days of Spring. Those warm days have now forsaken you, but yet you endure. I see you,” she said and handed him a budding flower which suddenly bloomed in her hand, and it became known as ‘utomí’. 

“May this flower be a symbol of our friendship; for I have seen you and recognize you. You will not be alone until the end days, and the rain falls from the skies no longer, for flowers shall be in bloom in the world during the day and during the night just as you toil endlessly. They shall only take what they need to grow and return what they have taken when their time is over. Let this be my covenant to you.”

And Aénotén, God of the Loam smiled that day, and took the utomí flower as a treasure and symbol of their covenant.

But Nuítalié heard their promise and her heart burned with anger, for she could not understand Aénotén as Haléma could. Nuítalié was one of a grand cycle, as was Aénotén, but different in ways that mattered most. And the two became even more estranged.

And so she became blind to her actions, treating Aénotén poorly as any other, believing him beneath her. Haléma visited him as often as she could, while Nuítalié became so consumed by anger that she neglected her own duties and Spring did not come for a time.

“In the meadows, under the rain clouds of summer I have seen you. In the cold shadows of the damp forests of autumn, I have watched. In the bitterly cold nights under the overcast skies of winter, you have come. For what reason do you seek which is mine?” Nuítalié asked Haléma after her anger and jealousy became unbearable.

“That which you claim as yours does not belong to you. For he belongs to no one, and to him I owe a great debt which I could never seek to repay. And you have cast him aside, have you not?” Haléma replied.

And Nuítalié went quiet for a moment, because she could not speak, for but a moment she was ashamed, which was quickly smothered by rage.

“Nonetheless, you are as a mouse in the night, gnawing incessantly at my scraps. Be gone and silence your tongue which speaks only poison!”

But Haléma did not leave and she did not go silent. 

“From you flows lies and discordant words as easily as the wind. But never to praise, and never to respect and to honor. To you, love is possession and pride is truth,” Haléma said.

“What do you know of love? Or of pride? Or of the times I have suffered in the eyes of others as you seek to take everything from me. I cannot bear to see it,” Nuítalié said, and closed her eyes to the world, “Now I shall see no longer. But I will take all from you as you have taken all from me. The beauty of your flowers shall forever be marred by thorns, so that whoever shall pick them shall feel my wrath in your stead.” 

Nuítalié departed from Haléma then. It was some time before Aénotén found Nuítalié and approached her in confusion.

“What has happened, my love? Spring has not come for many years, and the winter has been long.”

She looked toward him and he could see the darkness in her. Gone was the light from her eyes, and the color from her skin. But she still remained beautiful.

“I know not of the love of whom you speak. For I am the Goddess of Thorns and have forsaken the warmth of Spring.”

Aénotén did not know the reason that melancholy had consumed her. And he did not know what he should do.

“I had lived as if my life was a dream in which we were lovers. But when I awoke, I found that we were enemies. Was it all a figment in my mind? If true, then I pray the next time I sleep I will never wake. Be gone for I can see you no longer. From now until the end of time thorns and thistles shall grow from the Earth from Spring to Winter, ceaselessly trampling upon your works, and you will know that I am with you forevermore,” she said and became silent again.

Aénotén left her there in her misery, and departed in uncertainty. But he is ever diligent, and loves her still, and remained one who was without malice in his heart and did not heed the slight.