I was not always stiff and unyielding like I am today. But she came. And now I am the crime scene of this story you are telling. That is your tale. But I have my own story.
I was once an ordinary summer tent, a tent like any other tent of the Sakha people. Then came this time when I had not seen a living soul for a long time. This old man died without friends. Without anyone taking care of him. I am a tent. I can protect but I cannot feed. And I cannot give the service to someone dying that is due to them. So, after a while, I suffered too. He was there. His dead body inside me. It was like death without life. It is not supposed to be that way. Death is supposed to be the end and the beginning of life. This old man’s death was just the end.
I am a tent. I can protect but I cannot heal. Then she came. I don’t know where from, why or how she came but suddenly she was there.
I made myself harder. I transformed myself. That’s how I became the Iron Tent.
