A Legend Of Fire

[seru_ame]

[[Legend of Fire, originating in Winter Market 2022: [Story] Warmth in Winter]]

Abandons Fear found himself once more settled among the Kin of the Winter Market. His bulk rested heavy beneath the warmth of a good, clean fur, and his eyes held some peculiar measure of contentment, rare in such crowds. He lifted his head up, and cleared his throat softly. "Fire does not come from the sky. The roaring-call summons it, yes, but it is not where it comes from."

His gravel-heavy voice, thick and slow, drew eyes, and, suddenly, his voice caught in his throat. Abandon stared at them in what was sure to be perceived as a suspenseful silence. Merciful, for once, Dead Eyes fluttered down, the golden eagle coming to rest on his forelegs. He muzzled against the bird, and continued.

"It comes from deep within the ground. Where stone becomes as soft as these swamplands in spring after the thaw, but hot. Hotter than any desert the Acha have danced in, hotter than the tallest peaks." This pause was easier, more measured.

"This, we know, for long ago, in the mountains, there was a Long Winter. Longer than any other five had been before. Food was scarce. Hope was dwindling. Our lambs had been dying, our elders leaving so others might live. We were driven from the peaks into the caverns. Hollowhome, the largest cavern, held many of us. For a time, there was some measure of mercy- the moss and lichen was edible. There were mushrooms. But we were many, and the food would not last."

He buried his face against the warmth of his eagle, shivering as though he were remembering the cold. When he lifted his head again, there was a measure of sorrow in his voice.

"The strongest of us were fed well, and sent deeper into the caverns, into the tunnels. Three of them. They traveled for weeks through the tunnels, leaving trails of fur behind them. It became warmer, slowly, the further in they went. The first week, one of the two bucks fell of exhaustion. The other two carried on, mourning together, singing songs that echoed their hopes and sorrow. Where they heard their songs sung back, they followed, deeper, deeper still."

Abandon closed his eyes, sighing with the sadness of it. "Another fell in the paths. This time, the doe fed off his horns, for his strength, and carried on. She sang of his virtue, and the quickness of the first- and felt the air shift as she sank into the very heart of the mountain. Her hooves felt like they were melting, as the snow in the spring. Her fur, heavy, grew dry. She felt the warmth of the past summers missed, and pressed on. She saw bright lights within the mountain, and, as she drew up to them, her voice snatched by the thick heat, its voice bubbled up, lashed out and caught her."

He had found the rhythm of the story, so close to the end, and pressed on.

"Her wool caught fire, her mourning-call answered at last, and she fled, breathless, weeping, hurtling herself back towards Hollowhome. As she burst into the cavern, the others who could still move scattered for fear of her, and called out to her. Those that could not move, caught her embers, her gifts. She continued on, out into the frigid blizzard that had begun three days prior. She hurtled herself off the mountain, and was caught by the sky, and the wind drew her apart, spreading the warmth. The blizzard broke, as did her body- but spring came with her sacrifice."

The story done, he opened his eyes, and awkwardly shifted. "... So, yes. Fire comes from Motherfather's heart in the mountain, not the sky-"