#stomping around the forests scooping up small prey to eat

[laur-rants]

im workin on other stuff but look I drew my first ever azhdarchid by the way do you know how hard it is to spell azhdarchid i still don't know this is all a copy/paste on my part. anyway enjoy this goofy little guy. I love them.

[twilights-800-cats]

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Chapter 11

“Hold still!” Mothwing insisted.

“It hurts!” Mackerelpaw complained, holding out her paw awkwardly.

Mothwing glowered down at the thorn embedded deep into the apprentice’s pad. Such injuries weren’t common in RiverClan, but Mackerelpaw had reportedly chased a squirrel into a thicket near the Twoleg barn. Mothwing had no idea how ThunderClan or ShadowClan cats went three steps in their own territories without coming back with a bundle of thorns in their paws.

She lapped at Mackerelpaw’s pad, using her tongue to draw up the end of the thorn. It took a few tries before Mothwing could get it between her teeth and, with a sharp pull like Mudfur had taught her, she yanked out the barb.

Mackerelpaw yelped at the bright spurt of blood, her eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” Mothwing assured, spitting the thorn out near the edge of the den. What a big, nasty thing! She’d move it later, before some other cat trod on it. With a paw she smeared on some prepared marigold pulp onto the pad. “Keep off of it for today, and let me know if it starts hurting more than it should.”

Mackerelpaw sighed. “Blackclaw is gonna be furious! He’s annoyed that my assessment’s been delayed by this.”

Mothwing blinked at the young cat with sympathy. As a former kittypet, every assessment was vital for Mackerelpaw’s growth into a RiverClan warrior, and Blackclaw was a tough mentor, according to Falcontail. “It’s not your fault, really,” Mothwing assured. “Things like this happen. Give it a day or two and you can have your assessment.”

“Really?” Mackerelpaw’s eyes lit up with hope.

Mothwing nodded. With all that was going on in the forest, Leopardstar had stressed how important it was for RiverClan to continue on as normal. Though Mothwing found her mother’s mindset increasing her anxiety, it seemed to be keeping the Clan from panicking. Still, Mothwing wondered if the buzz of Twoleg monsters weren’t getting closer and closer every passing day…

Mackerelpaw left the den, tail up and looking happy. Mothwing sighed and went to tend to the thorn, only to find that Mudfur was doing it for her – the old brown tom was burying it in the dirt beneath the reed bed.

“Good job,” he rasped, looking up from his work. “Your nest-side manner is improving.”

Mothwing’s pelt warmed. “Thanks,” she purred, her tail curling.

Mudfur stamped down the dirt over the thorn, clouds of dust billowing around his paws. Mothwing frowned. The drought had ended, and yet it still seemed like the earth was thirsty. It’s been a very hot greenleaf, she reflected. Hotter than the last. Even the river seemed to be having a hard time recovering.

She busied herself with cleaning up the marigold, sweeping it into the hollow shell of a log that they used to store their herbs safely. It had its gaps packed with mud and leaves to keep the water out when it rained. Mothwing glanced over the protective coating and wondered if it was cracking in the heat.

“We need more borage,” Mothwing reflected, looking into the shell. She pawed at the leaves in the dark. “Dawnflower is going through so much, with three kits to feed.”

“Hm,” Mudfur grunted.

“And I think we could stand for a few more sprigs of thyme,” Mothwing went on. She pulled her head out of the log, her nose tingling with the smell of dried leaves. “What do you think, Mud-”

She cut herself off, stiffening as she saw Heronleap pad into the den. Behind him came a very small, lean-bodied brown-and-white tabby tom, whose bright green eyes were wide with exertion. Mothwing had to scrub the herb dust off of her nose before she could make out the newcomer’s WindClan scent.

“Ryewhisper?” Mudfur wondered, ears pricked. “What’s going on?”

Ryewhisper blinked at the RiverClan medicine cats, but it was Heronleap who answered, glaring suspiciously at the WindClan medicine cat apprentice, “He says he came to speak with you, Mudfur. My patrol found him at the border.”

“B-Bristlepaw and Graytail are sick!” Ryewhisper burst, stepping forward, pushing past Heronleap. There was a plea in his eyes as he looked at Mudfur and Mothwing. “Neither can keep down any f-fresh-kill, and they’re vomiting so much… We’re out of herbs, and we don’t know what to do!”

Mudfur’s ear twitched, concern passing over his face. “Barkface has no ideas?”

Ryewhisper shook his head, looking desperate. “Please, help us… there isn’t time to go anywhere else.”

Mudfur looked to Heronleap. “Tell Leopardstar we’ll go,” he ordered.

Heronleap looked shocked. “Really?”

Mudfur bristled. “Did I stutter, kit? Go!”

Heronleap jumped at his tone and dashed out of the den. Mudfur’s neck fur bristled in frustration as he muttered, “Back in my day if a medicine cat told you to jump you asked ‘How high!’” He swung his head back to Ryewhisper. “Give us a moment to gather supplies.”

Mothwing sighed – there was something to admire about Mudfur’s strength, but she could see just how much the effort was paining him. His limbs were trembling subtly, and the light in his eyes was from pain, not determination.

“I’ll go,” Mothwing told him, heart pounding in her ears. “Just me.”

Mudfur looked like he might protest, but he shut his jaws on the matter. There was no need to argue in front of Ryewhisper, not when the thin WindClan cat could no doubt see his weakness, too. “Can you handle it?” was all Mudfur asked.

Mothwing hesitated. She’d only been training for a few short moons – Ryewhisper had far more experience than she did. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but Barkface and Ryewhisper need help. I’ll do my best.”

It was a long moment before Mudfur made his decision. “She’s sharp,” Mudfur assured Ryewhisper, “and her mind is fresh. She’ll see things more clearly.”

Mothwing took a deep breath of relief, meeting Ryewhisper’s eye and finding that they were thinking the same thing – We’re both hoping I can come up with some sort of solution. Mothwing sent a silent prayer to StarClan. Please let me be able to help!

She gathered as many supplies as she could from the hollow log, anything she thought might soothe a stomach or prevent vomiting. Is it poison? She wondered as she scooped yarrow into her leaf-wrap. Or is it yellowcough? It doesn’t sound like redcough, at least… I hope I can figure this out…

“Hurry!” Ryewhisper pleaded.

Mothwing knew she had no more time for doubts or fears. She tied her bundle tightly and brushed past Mudfur, padding out of the den after Ryewhisper.

Outside, the Clan was clearly unsettled by their WindClan guest – the recent border crossings weren’t helping. Mothwing found herself frustrated with their looks. Ryewhisper was a medicine cat, what did they think he was going to do? Medicine cats don’t go around spying! It’s against our code!

“You’re going with him?” Falcontail hissed, coming forward.

Mothwing dropped her bundle, briefly. Ryewhisper glanced back, panic in his eyes. Quickly, Mothwing explained, “Mudfur thinks I can help.”

Falcontail leered at Ryewhisper, lashing his tail. “Keep a sharp eye out,” he growled, his voice low. His eyes flashed into Mothwing’s, and she took a half-step back out of discomfort. “And if you happen to see anything…”

Mothwing curled her lip. “I am a medicine cat,” she snapped, forcing her fur to lie flat. RiverClan did not need to see her arguing with her littermate. “Not a warrior – remember?”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Mothwing scooped up her herbs and bounded after Ryewhisper, her anger at her brother’s request lending her paws speed. How dare he! She thought as she pushed through the reeds. Picking at me for being just a medicine cat, and then expecting me to spy on WindClan for him!

Who in StarClan’s name does he think he is?!

———————————————————-

Her anger had faded by sunhigh, as she and Ryewhisper crossed into WindClan territory. Mothwing could only stop and stare as the two padded over the rise of a steep hill. The reeds faded into the moorland, into rocking heather and prickly gorse that stretched on forever…

At least, it should have.

Huge swaths of WindClan’s territory were nothing but torn earth and mud, churned by the bright yellow Twoleg monsters slowly roaming over the hills. Even though they were far away, near the Thunderpath, the monsters were so visible and the Twolegs walking around them seemed to do so with no regard for the land they were stomping on.

Mothwing stiffened with horror, glancing at Ryewhisper. No wonder they’re all so skinny now, she thought. There was just no way for prey to live in the places where the Twolegs were rampaging, and even the hawks looked hungry as they circled in the clear sky. Ryewhisper seemed to guess what she was thinking. He said nothing as he led the way through the heather, heading for WindClan’s camp.

Thankfully, it seemed as if the Twolegs hadn’t yet found the camp. Mothwing, however, knew it was only a matter of time before those earth-eaters came and tore down the protective hills and gorse that sheltered the hollow where the WindClan cats called home. Ryewhisper led the way into the camp, lifting a stray bit of gorse with his tail so it wouldn’t catch in Mothwing’s thick fur.

Mothwing had never been into the WindClan camp before, but she knew there was no way it was normally in such disarray – bedding and old prey-bones were scattered all over the clearing, as if no cat had the strength to clean. Even the air inside the gorse walls seemed stagnant. Warriors were huddled up in tiny groups, their shoulder blades poking up from thin, ragged fur and their eyes bulging from bony frames. Though she was RiverClan, walking through their camp, there was no energy, no challenge; nothing like there had been in her own territory.

She knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it. Sorrow gripped her belly like a hawk’s talons. WindClan was clearly suffering – there wasn’t even a fresh-kill pile that she could see, just a flattened bit of grass with old bloodstains. What were they eating? She glanced towards a hollow where two kittens stared out at her, before their pale-furred mother pulled them back inside. How were the kits surviving? They have to be giving them every spare morsel…

Ryewhisper led the way through the camp, towards an old badger set near the back of the hill that sheltered the camp. It had been hollowed out and expanded into a subterranean medicine cat’s den, safe from the heat. Mothwing, despite what lay outside, let herself be awed by the masterful way the hollow had been dug out – despite being underground, she felt safe, and not at all cramped.

Barkface was inside, along with who Mothwing presumed were Graytail and Bristlepaw. The entire den smelled of sickness, with herbs scattered everywhere over the hard-packed floor. Vomit-covered dock leaves looked as if they had been gathered in a far corner, but now they were left where they fell – Barkface was clearly at his wit’s end.

“There you are,” the small brown tom breathed. He looked exhausted, and just as thin as his Clanmates. “Please tell me you’ve brought aid…” His eyes drifted to Mothwing, then past her, as if he’d been expecting more.

“I’m sorry,” Ryewhisper breathed. The small tom looked exhausted. “I just don’t have the strength to go anywhere else - we can’t cross the Thunderpath safely anymore and there are just too many Twolegs near Fourtrees to get to ThunderClan in daylight.”

“I brought all I could,” Mothwing meowed, nudging her herb packet towards Barkface.

“It will have to do,” Barkface decided, tearing open the packet with a shaking claw. Mothwing and Ryewhisper huddled around him as he counted out what Mothwing had brought. To Mothwing’s dismay it seems as if she had brought every herb that Barkface had already tried – nothing inside the packet seemed to make Barkface look any more hopeful.

Mothwing looked over at the patients. Graytail was barely moving, his muzzle crusted over with old vomit and his eyes dull. Bristlepaw looked a little more lively, though that liveliness was him writhing in pain in his nest, groaning. Still, he was moving, and that was far more encouraging than poor Graytail.

Together, the three medicine cats tried everything they could with what herbs they had. Juniper berries seemed to help Bristlepaw some, but Graytail was simply not responding to anything – he hadn’t the strength to keep down any herbs, and barely had enough strength to retch. What vomit he did produce was speckled with blood, and Mothwing watched, helpless, as Graytail’s side slowly stopped moving, and his eyes grew dark.

“StarClan help us,” breathed Ryewhisper, horrified.

Barkface sighed, drawing a paw over Graytail’s eyes. “StarClan, guide him into your embrace…”

Mothwing could hardly hear the prayer. Ears ringing with shock, she redoubled her efforts to at least make Bristlepaw comfortable. As she dragged wool and moss over to the apprentice’s nest and stuffed it as best as she could, she clawed her mind, trying to think of something, anything that might cause such sickness. It’s not deathberries, they don’t kill like that, she thought desperately. Not nightshade or lily seed, tulip doesn’t grow around here… Oleander, maybe?

“I’m hungry…” Bristlepaw’s voice brought Mothwing out of her own head.

The small brown tom was still curled up and clearly in pain, but his eyes were bright as he looked at the medicine cats. He didn’t seem to notice or care that Mothwing was there – he simply looked at the three of them and repeated, “I’m hungry…”

“That’s good,” Barkface breathed, hope flaring in his tired gaze. “Ryewhisper, see if Onewhisker’s patrol is back. Bring him down the fattest of the rabbits-”

“No!” screeched Bristlepaw.

All three medicine cats stared at the apprentice, stunned by the force of his voice. Bristlepaw seemed shocked by it, too, writhing in pain. When he caught his breath, he wheezed, “No… rabbit… Graytail and I… we shared one… and then we got sick…”

Horror clenched Mothwing’s heart, and she looked at both Barkface and Ryewhisper. Rabbit was the primary prey of WindClan, they hardly caught or ate anything else in the barren moorland. If something was wrong with the rabbits… Oh, StarClan!

“Ryewhisper, stay with him,” Barkface declared. “Mothwing, with me.”

Mothwing followed Barkface out of the den and into the open. The WindClan cats were clustered around the fresh-kill pile, clamoring as Onewhisker and his patrol set their prey down. To Mothwing’s horror, there was a rabbit at their paws. Even more horrifying, the fresh-kill was likely the fattest thing the Clan had seen in a moon.

“Get it to Softbreeze,” stated Mudclaw, WindClan’s deputy. Even skinny and starving, he held his head high. “Her kits haven’t fed since yesterday morning.”

“Don’t!” Barkface croaked, pushing his way through the crowd. Mothwing followed in his wake, but she had a feeling that the WindClan cats hadn’t the strength to stop her. Barkface put his paw on the rabbit and drew it towards him, much to the dismay of his Clan.

“What’s going on?” demanded a small white she-cat. “Barkface, we need that rabbit!”

The pale queen from earlier poked her head out of the nursery. “You will not stop my kits from being fed!” she insisted, bristling. Mothwing trembled at the ferocity in the queen’s eye. Would she attack her own Clanmate for food?

“Enough!” Barkface raised his voice. Mothwing watched in awe as even the frustrated, starving WindClan cats fell silent for him. “Graytail is dead,” he announced. Horrified yowls rose from the crowd, but Barkface swept on, “Bristlepaw is hanging on, but he made a claim that a rabbit he and Graytail shared was what made them ill – it may be nothing, but I cannot allow any WindClan cat to eat a rabbit that might be tainted.”

The crowd fell silent, eyes round with horror. Onewhisker frowned. “Is there any way to tell?” he asked, glancing guiltily down at his catch.

Barkface stared down at the rabbit. Mothwing wondered what he was going to do when he raised his paw, claws unsheathed, and tore into the rabbit’s belly.

Shocked, horrified, all of the Clan backed up to avoid the contents. Mothwing’s nose wrinkled at the sour smell rising from the spilled stomach, but she leaned in to peer at what lay inside. It’s my job, she told herself. I don’t have to like it, though…

Barkface was looking with her. Amidst the rabbit’s last meal were various seeds and petals, but most prominently were bright blue bits of something unfamiliar, unlike anything Mothwing had seen before. She turned and sniffed at the meat of the rabbit and pulled back, shocked at the sourness.

“It’s poisoned,” she breathed.

“What?!” exclaimed Mudclaw. The WindClan deputy pushed himself forward, nose wrinkled. “What right have you to say that, RiverClan?”

“She is a medicine cat,” Barkface snapped, thrusting Mudclaw aside, “and she is right! These are no berries or seeds I have ever seen… it must have come from the Twolegs!”

Mothwing pulled her muzzle away, feeling sick to her stomach. Barkface turned to his Clan and sighed. “Let me speak with Tallstar. Mothwing, Whitetail; ensure no cat eats this rabbit… and don’t touch it yourselves.”

The WindClan medicine cat pushed through the crowd, following by worried gazes and chatter from his Clanmates. Mothwing placed herself beside the rabbit, conscious of the juices and blood running over the earth. Whitetail – the small white she-cat from before – sat beside her, looking utterly terrified as she watched Barkface disappear into Tallstar’s den.

Mothwing wished she knew what to say. WindClan was already struggling to survive the Twolegs encroaching on their territory – if they couldn’t eat rabbits… And what does that mean for the other Clans? Prey didn’t obey Clan borders, and Mothwing could swear she’d seen a rabbit on RiverClan’s fresh-kill pile. Fear gripped her heart.

Moments later, Barkface and Tallstar emerged. Though Mothwing was sure they used the tall rock in the center of their camp for meetings, there seemed to be no need for it now – and no energy. Tallstar was the thinnest of his Clan, trying to stride with confidence but clearly failing, even to Mothwing’s eyes. He leaned on Barkface as they padded to the head of the crowd.

Mothwing shivered as she looked into Tallstar’s eyes. The brightness that every Clan leader had, their gift of nine lives, was dull and difficult to see, even for eyes opened by StarClan. How many lives does he have left? What will happen to WindClan if he dies?

The WindClan leader only looked at the torn rabbit for a moment before raising his muzzle. The entire Clan was silent, the air heavy with tension as every cat, even Mothwing, was waiting for Tallstar to speak, to bring some sort of hope.

“I had a dream many nights ago, of a rabbit turning upon a WindClan warrior and killing him, but I foolishly dismissed it – it was clearly a sign,” the WindClan leader began. His voice was as weak as his frame, and sorrow burned in his hungry yellow eyes. “Barkface has told me what happened, and I’ve no choice: WindClan can no longer risk surviving on rabbits.”

Horrified yowls rose from the Clan, deafening all else until Mudclaw pushed through to call for silence with a sharp yowl. Tallstar looked to Mothwing, sighing.

“Warn your Clan,” Tallstar breathed quietly. “No more rabbits.”

“I will,” Mothwing murmured. “And the other Clans, too.”

Tallstar only nodded. “Go home, Mothwing. Thank you for your aid.”

As Mothwing was escorted, flanked by Onewhisker and Whitetail, she couldn’t help but feel as if being thanked for this was inappropriate. She could hear the horrified clamor of WindClan’s warriors, demanding to know how they would survive now. Mothwing could swear she heard a kit crying in terror over the growl of the Twoleg earth-eaters.

She felt as if she had just destroyed an entire Clan.

[smallmomentsinbetween]

The noises were back. The noises coming straight from beneath, down the mountain slide and echoing from the crystal trees of Old.

She hisses loudly, not moving even the fraction of an inch, but all her 8 optics were focused on the edge of the forest at the foot of the mountain. Her back itches, her claws pressing against the sealings on her pedes.

She wants to move, wants to go, and fly free so badly, but she can’t. She cannot fly off now. Not now. Not until the reason she was hunkered in the innards of a mountain were ready to depart as well. But the song is back, drifting on the winds, accompanied by the sweet and musky smell of shed life energon and the mech she was fleeing from. She called him VoiceTempter, Sweetsinger, Deceiver, CloudChainer. His voice was all she ever wanted; all she could think about anymore. It went into your processor, nestling into every little nook and thought, invading every process, every memory. Trying to lure her in, like he had others, tried to get her to leave, to join him.

But she was stronger. Had to be stronger than ever for she was not alone.

The long and deadly spikes along her tail glinted in the dual suns as she twitched at a deep note reaching her audials and not for the first time she wished for the ability to clamp her audial receptors shut. But she needs them, to listen to the sounds coming from the small pocket of heat and glowing stones in the mountain she was wrapped around.

The movement was enough though, to get her noticed, her camouflage on the mountain side now unnecessary.

Like insects approaching a prey carcass they streamed from the in between the trees, breaking the precious crystallized flora and stepping on it in their haste to follow the commands of the WrongSoother. Their battle cries telling her enough to know about what they wanted.

If he could not have her now, he would just take from her what she wished to protect, for what she stood strong and defiant.

Screeching in fury she comes to her pedes, the folded wings on her back stretching out and darkening the sky, maroon spirals and cobalt eyes glowing in the armor covering her wings, a warning to keep away, to back off. But they are still running on, small balls of plasma withering away as they meet her armor, not even denting or scratching her.

She wants to preen about her protective plates, but she had seen others rely on it and the swarm of insects, prey and inferior predators had worn them down, covering them all over, ripping away at plates and cabling, rendering them into nothing more than mere parts to be used to lure others out.

She would not end like this!

Bellowing her defiance into the winds blew away the first handful of insects, but also the tempting and soothing whispers that reached for her spark. Shaking her immense frame she allowed her claws to slide out, destroying the stones she was resting on, sending more than a few stones tumbling down the mountain side, crushing one or two insects.

Her tail though was securely wrapped around the mountain top still.

She was towering above them, her maw as tall as some of those inferior ones! She would bite them in two! She would stomp them into the ground! She would rip them apart, piece by piece for daring to interrupt her!

Roaring loudly, she can feel the clicks inside herself, where a few chemical chambers connected now, opening pathways around her vents to feed the chemical mixture into her mouth, igniting it with a snirk of her fangs and venting out.

A torrent of green-bluish fire rolled from her maw, engulfing the oncoming mechs and leaving behind puddles of melted metal running down again to pool at the Deceivers pedes. She was sad to see her flames would not reach him. Stomping on another insect to crush it, she closes her maw, the chemicals eating away at the soft inner lining of it.

The bigger mech at the edge of the forest is just watching her, an amused glint in his optics that infuriates her further, stoking the rage burning deep inside her chassis, sending her tanks rumbling to produce more of the chemicals she could use.

He is playing with her, thinking she could not smell the Juggernauts and Behemoths he has laying low inside the forest groves. But she cannot go away, cannot take flight now.

Not when she can hear the soft sounds of breaking shell underneath the stomping pedes, soft whimpers, and scratching of claws. Her first egg had broken, her first eggling breaking free. Not long now and she would be able to go!

Roaring again, her tail grip tightens. She wished to send croons to her small ones, calm them down and tell them to hunker down, but she cannot without giving away everything.

The CloudChainer changes his tones, his willing puppets prostrating themselves for a second, even if she takes a bite to break a few of them, before they all start crawling over her tail, the only part of her that was still and not fighting back.

Screeching in fury her tail curls abruptly, spearing a few puppets on her spikes to throw them into their fellows. Over her bellows and screams, she can hear another egg layer breaking, another whimper joining the first. But also, pede steps.

Her processor freezes for the fraction of a moment, two of her optics refocusing on the small entrance to her impromptu nest. There! A small purple prey-predator was making its way inside, hungry claws reaching for-

Her jaws engulf not only the mech, but also the stone around, crunching through everything, compacting it until the screams of the prey died in between her fangs. Her tail swishing once over the mountain side, hoping to dislodge the waves of insects crawling up her hind legs now, poking daggers and sharp teeth into the seams between her plates.

But she can only focus on her small ones now, the nest open, one egg broken and squished, but two formidable and full small protoforms huddling close to the last egg, still unbroken and unblemished.

She cannot wait anymore. They know.

He knows.

She screeches at her small ones, pressing her open maw to the opening in stone, her two small ones darting on shaky pede inside her mouth and into the small caverns for holding her protoform safe. The egg she scoops up with her glossa, carefully maneuvering it inside.

Her wings scratched and with more holes than she would like to admit, open and flap, making her huge frame jump from the mountain side. Huge balls of plasma erupt along her sides painfully, shaking her in the air as she takes flight, heading straight up to breach the atmosphere between planet and space.

Another lucky shot to the side of her snout has her screeching, her egg free and falling now. She tries to reach for it, curl her serpentine frame to snatch it back up, but the burn of plasma along her side is enough to keep her distracted. She misses the egg.

Loudly trumpeting her loss, she shoots upwards and away on shaky wings, crooning to the two small ones in her caverns. Two lost, two living.

She would not forget.

But for now, she must escape the WrongSoother, his voice already reaching for her and her cubs again.

[officialhexrpg]

Arts & Graphics: August’s Writing Challenge Winner!

August's theme for the Arts and Graphics forum on HEXRPG was the night sky and constellations! In this challenge, writers had to create a myth behind a constellation.                                                

2nd Place: AimNorth

"Grandma, which constellation is that?" asked the four-year-old, her head bobbing slightly with the nimble movements of her grandmother's fingers as she braided her dark hair out on the front porch of their home in the mountains, the chill of fall on the wind, reminding them the changing of the seasons was right around the corner. "That's Met'e the Wise," the older woman hummed, her wrinkled fingers still braiding even as she looked to the sky. "You see? His snout, four legs, a tail - his great wings?" "Uhm... yeah!" Ava responded with the tone of a child who definitely did not see what she was pointing out. Mary smiled gently, looking back at the young girl's hair as she asked, "Why was he wise?" "Oh, it's a great story," Mary hummed idly, secretly happy that this would give her a chance to do the talking. The child was a good soul, but a chatter-box, and it made braiding her hair take even longer. But at least star spotting stopped her from complaining about how the braids were too tight. "Met'e's herd used to live in these mountains, residing in the forests of the Cascades. They mostly kept to themselves - us wizards and witches tend not to understand them, you see. It's hard to understand something when you only ever see it in the wake of tragedy. Met'e's herd understood this, too a point, understanding their presence was something of a bad omen to the people who resided in these mountains with them. But, of course, they couldn't always go unseen. The forests are a dangerous place in the summers." "Because of the fires," Ava interrupted solemnly. Mary nodded. Of course the child would know. There had been two straight weeks that summer alone she hadn't been allowed outside to play because of the thick wildfire smoke "Because of the fires," Mary confirmed. "When the fires swept the mountains every summer, Met'e's herd had no choice but to move towards the sparsely forested areas of the towns. Sometimes, wildfires would push the people into the mountains and across Met'e's herd's land. They rubbed elbows a lot and it was always caught for strife. The witches and wizards often berated them, threatened them with weapons and magic to go back to where they came from. Sometimes, Met'e's people would stand their ground, thrashing their whip-like tails and stomping their hooves. Other times, they would spread their great, leathery wings and fly off, unwanting of a confrontation. "But all that changed one summer when a particularly bad volley of fires swept the area. Weeks of no rain followed by lightning on the mountains had set off a chain reaction. It seemed like all the forest were ablaze, the air thick with yellow haze, raining ash down on the towns. Whole villages were swallowed by flames, leaving people stranded with nowhere to go - and leaving Met'e's herd stranded there, too, on the banks of the sound, just waiting. "'Please, there must be something you can do,' begged the people. Remembering the awful way they had been treated by the villagers and townspeople in the past, Met'e's leader suggested they leave - after all, flying across the Sound to begin again somewhere else was not out of the realm of possibilities - they had wings, after all. While they didn't want to leave their homes, they would if it was going to save their lives. "'Why should we help you? We have never been anything but abominations to you,' the leader spat as he readied his herd to take off. But Met'e saw the panic and desperation in the eyes of the witches and wizards who could see them because they had seen death before, and the fear in the eyes of those who could not see them yet, knowing that after the flames reached them, death would no longer be a stranger to them. The people had always associated the presence of creatures like him with the coming of death - if they left now, without even trying to help, it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy. They would be no better than the witches and wizards who thought so little of them. "'We can help,' Met'e said, much to the great anger of his leader. 'If you give us your baskets, we can fly over the Sound and bring back water to put out the fires. You can use your tools to dig a trench by the fire it cannot cross, and we will use the dirt you dig up to throw over the fire from above. We can help, but we cannot do it alone. We must work together.' "The witches and wizards, as well as the jaded herd members, considered this proposition. But as the wind blew in a new round of smoke, choking their lungs, both sides agreed. And so they worked. The people emptied their baskets of their belongings and Met'e's herd members flew out over the water, scooping up great amounts of water, and dosing the fire. The people used whatever tools they could find to dig a great trench in the ground, and Met'e's people took the dirt and threw it across the fire from above. "It was hard, dirty, risky work. But just as exhaustion set in on the workers, hope was seen. From the grey-yellow sky began to fall rain, and from over the Sound came a wind, pushing the smoke and fire backward. The people and herd members alike cheered for the miracle. "'You see what good can come from getting along?' Met'e asked the group. And they did. Together, they helped rebuild the villages and towns. The herd members helped bring in supplies from distant, non-charred forests. The humans agreed not to hunt as much small prey so that the herd had something to eat. They agreed to share the same forests that were left while the vast mountain range regrew its vegetation. "When Met'e died of old age several years later, at his burial - attended widely by his herd members and witches and wizards alike - his body disappeared from the casket. That night, much to the amazement of everyone, he could be seen in the sky. Now, at the end of every wildfire season, Met'e's constellation appears, helping fight the last of them off and bringing home to our region." Just then, Marry banded the last braid in Ava's hair and patted her back. "You're all done, baby." "Momma! Daddy! Come here!" Ava squealed, hopping to her bare feet and taking off inside of the house. "I wanna tell you about Met'e! Come look!" Mary laughed, flexing her stiff, aching fingers and looking to the sky. She never got tired of those stories. She hoped Ave never did, either.