The world felt brittle. As the night drew in, it brought with it the sting of cold that whispered of the coming winter. Even the trees, with their last remaining stubborn leaves clinging tight, seemed to shiver. The Killing Moon let out a breath, the vapors hanging in the air near his muzzle before dissipating. It would get colder once the true winter had arrived, but the day had been relatively pleasant. The first cold was always the hardest to endure.

Unable to sleep and aware that the siblings pressed in close to his side were likewise wide awake, he began to talk, retelling a story he had heard somewhere along the way…

“Long ago, when the Swamp was new there was no such thing as seasons. In that time, there was a only a handful of Kin, not like there are now, and the MotherFather felt like a close friend, rather than a distant dream. Back then there was only what we now call spring. The sun was always shining, the flowers always blooming and with new young filling the bellies of every mother. No creature knew what true hunger was, for everything was in abundance.

The MotherFather saw this and knew that it could not continue forever. Everything she had made was growing plump and lazy. They were haughty and self-assured, as if no sickness or grief could touch then. They were pampered and so did not strive to become anything more than what they were. They did not respect the life that they had.

The MotherFather saw this and in answer she flowed into the earth. She touched every tree and every plant, touched the very nature of everything and she shifted. Slowly, so slowly that it took time for anyone to even notice, spring left.

Summer took its placed. The sun burnt big and bright, scorching the earth. Many of the flowers fell from their branches and plants began to wilt in the harsh light. The abundant fruits withered on the trees and for the first time the Swamp was uncomfortable. But there was still enough to eat and so nobody took too much notice. Things would go back to normal soon, they all said.

Then the leaves began to change colour and they marvelled at the display. Then the leaves fell to the ground in great piles and they played amongst them, laughing in delight. There was no more fruit on the trees, they noted, but surely more would grow soon. The world would blossom again before long. Autumn stayed for a time but the cold crept in.

Winter arrived.

It blew down on the Swamp with a vengeance. The first winter was the longest and harshest that was ever will be. The swamp froze. Sleet and hail came first and left the frost. The water turned to ice and the ground turned rock-hard beneath their hooves. The trees shook like tall skeletons and the smaller plants simply died. The snow arrived, blanketing the land in white.

And everyone suffered.

They had never known hardship. They knew of death, but that was a thing for the old, not the young. Now it claimed everyone who was not strong enough to endure. They huddled together, desperate for warmth, their bellies caving in and the frost seeping into their bones. Surely they would all soon perish.

But before they could all be claimed, winter relented. The sun returned and melted the cold away. Those left were harder now, fighters. Life and death was clear to them. When spring brought its abundance to them, they did not take it for granted. They relished every second. When summer came next, the thanked it for its warmth and in autumn they used the chill, brilliant days to prepare for when the cold came again.

The MotherFather had taught her children to respect life and so the seasons remain to challenge us.”