Phoenix Songbird
Dapper Gekko
fluorescein
16,500 Points
-
100
Roadkill
lostandtold
9,825 Points
-
100
-
150
theCorniest
Colorful Contributor
23,450 Points
-
100
Jun D
Shoujo Shounen
and be blue
Ruthless Nerd
20,650 Points
-
50
-
50
-
0
Jun D
Shoujo Shounen
fluorescein
16,500 Points
-
100
Matope
JUDGING TIME! About to finish off this event! here we go!
I'm going to start this out by saying EVERYONE should read these entries. Everyone did an amazing job, and as such, the first reward for the moon and sun contest is this:
Each participate can take their story and use it as the 'story' legendary requirement for one of their Kimeti, even though you didn't phrase them as actually reading it out. That's fine. These were all great, and all fit rather excellently into the canon.
Entry from Jun D
SO WE BLINKED FIRST.
But I am going to keel over and it is already 6.30am so I am just going to put this here and go away and see if I can learn how to sleep again. Goodnight!
Username one: Jun D
Username two: Maxx D
Notes about this entry: Also known as East-to-West Side Story. : P
An alternative post-creation myth that some kimeti storyteller probably dreamed up to explain the sun, moon, stars, cycles, and solar eclipses more romantically…meant to be oral and theatrical and sing-song'y, thus pardon us as we bore you to death with endless 'See Spot run. Run, run, run.'-type repetition.
Originally it was also meant to double as their naming dream, but at 2k words may be a bit too long…but the dream would be at least a condensed version of this; we'd thought their personalities would be affected by it in the sense that the seeming inevitability of a neverending tragic ending would make them restless drifters for the earlier parts of their lives…until we ascend them ;D and as Legendaries they come to understand more and find some peace.
Jun wishes he had more time to think this through and not have had to rush after exams (and that we weren't so derp at oral tradition mythology). Maxx just wants to note that it was with a mixture of pity, amusement, and contempt that he watched Jun fall asleep at the keyboard several times on deadline day at 4am. Jun eyes won't even focus anymore, so he just wants to say good luck to all the entrants and that he'll cagefight you to the death for Moon if he has to. Thank you so much for your time!
But I am going to keel over and it is already 6.30am so I am just going to put this here and go away and see if I can learn how to sleep again. Goodnight!
MOON AND SUN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Username one: Jun D
Username two: Maxx D
Notes about this entry: Also known as East-to-West Side Story. : P
An alternative post-creation myth that some kimeti storyteller probably dreamed up to explain the sun, moon, stars, cycles, and solar eclipses more romantically…meant to be oral and theatrical and sing-song'y, thus pardon us as we bore you to death with endless 'See Spot run. Run, run, run.'-type repetition.
Originally it was also meant to double as their naming dream, but at 2k words may be a bit too long…but the dream would be at least a condensed version of this; we'd thought their personalities would be affected by it in the sense that the seeming inevitability of a neverending tragic ending would make them restless drifters for the earlier parts of their lives…until we ascend them ;D and as Legendaries they come to understand more and find some peace.
Jun wishes he had more time to think this through and not have had to rush after exams (and that we weren't so derp at oral tradition mythology). Maxx just wants to note that it was with a mixture of pity, amusement, and contempt that he watched Jun fall asleep at the keyboard several times on deadline day at 4am. Jun eyes won't even focus anymore, so he just wants to say good luck to all the entrants and that he'll cagefight you to the death for Moon if he has to. Thank you so much for your time!
Quote:
There is a story not all storytellers tell, for some stories are always told and some stories must wait in their shadows. The littlest foal knows that when the Motherfather created the world, She ran the vast sky end to end, and with a great shake, loosed fleas from Her coat for the stars, and ticks from Her ears for the sun and moon. This is not that story; this is a story that the oldest buck may not have heard, the wisest doe may not pay mind, for no fleas were loosed, no ticks dislodged, and even the littlest foals knows otherwise. But there are many stories and even those in shadow must emerge to burn for a while in the flame. And then - who knows? Some might burn forever.
When the Motherfather galloped the world into being, all was dark, and so She made the sun by which to survey Her goodly work. All creatures, She knew, would hence gaze upon this light, and so She set about to craft a being worthy of such honour. And such a being She did craft, painted out of living fire - a vibrant, strong-limbed body, tossing a mane of trailing flame behind a noble head with blazing eyes. It may not precisely have been a kimeti, but all kimeti since, in some ways less, in some ways more, have been made in this image.
And so Sun held station in the sky, lighting the land with his blinding flame as the Motherfather raised breath in Her infant world - here, rocky mountains with their soaring eagles; there, shifting oceans with their diving fish; and that which pleased Her most of all, the Swamp, with all manners of life that reached up to the light overhead. The world was bright, the Swamp at peace, and the Motherfather, for the moment, content with Her creation.
But too much of any one thing kills, and the Sun was too much fire. He moved, restless, back and forth in the sky, for too much fire parches and he was parched; the heat of his own flesh consumed him, ceaselessly. He could not close his eyes but that his own light blinded; he could not rest his haunch but that his own flame burned. He moved, restless; the more he tossed, the more he burned, and under his endless blaze the Swamp began to wither. This, the Motherfather saw, and She knew the dark must return; so She drew a veil across the sky, and sent Sun to burn beneath the earth.
The Motherfather thought and watched as Her trees slept and healed their wounded leaves; the Motherfather watched and thought as Her creatures plumped nests and crawled into their sanctuary. She thought and watched as yet others squeaked and stumbled in the blackness, and watched and thought and finally rose to complete Her night. With the lightest breath, She sketched a tender frame: four-limbed, like Sun, but lithe and slender, with eloquent eyes that glowed like tranquil lakes. Across her dusted coat rippled a gentle glimmer of twinkling lights; this was Moon, and the Motherfather drifted her into the dark to guide the way. And that was when Sun saw Moon.
Sun saw Moon - her thoughtful face, her comely figure. Sun saw Moon, her glimmering coat, across which, far, far as he stood, a faint light of his fires still played. Sun saw Moon, and he saw the serenity to his ceaseless fire. She would calm him, he knew, she would soothe him, he knew; she would quench his searing flame, that burned and burned, and parched and scorched and burned - she would save him. Sun saw Moon, and so, towards his salvation, Sun began to run.
Moon, new-born, knew nothing of the Sun. Solitary in the darkness, silent in the darkness, safe; Moon cast soft, seeking eyes over the world, that she might learn. But for now she knew nothing, and when the light began to glow, brighter, brighter, the flame began to spread, closer, closer, the fire began to burn, hurtling towards her - Moon knew nothing of need, or kindness, of desperation, or compassion, of desire, or love; Moon knew only fear. And so she fled.
They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, the frightened doe never looking back at the buck with bright hair flying. She could feel his burning heat behind her, hear the crack of his galloping hooves, and she knew only fear. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, till the bones themselves flickered and she vanished back into the Swampmother's sky - a mere glimmer, a thought, the faintest notion, till it took panicked spirit from the closing fire and waxed back into a she, and once again renewed her path. Running, running, never stopping, and always, always, behind her he chased. In circles they ran, always running: where he blazed the sky, it was day; where she streaked the dark, it was night. And so, with half day and half night, all things below found their best ways to live. Till one day: one day, Moon ran too fast, too far, too fast and too far, straight into the path of the Sun -
- and the world went dark.
She stood in his fire, and it did not burn her. He beseeched her without speaking, and she was no longer afraid.
No longer scorching was Sun's flame, it rippled gentle against Moon's cool flesh. She had quenched his heat, as he had known; she had cured his pain, as he had known. The dark was soothing, and so they lay together in it, the corona of their burgeoning love the only light, lapping softly at the edges of their forms entwined.
But too much of any one thing kills, and it was too much dark. The trees that had reached to the light now began to fall, further, further, till their leaves brushed the ground, and broke to join it. The creatures that had basked in the warmth curled up in their nests, tighter, tighter, till they knew no longer how to leave, and shrivelled in their sanctuary. The Swamp began to die. And so it cried, many little voices as one voice, to the Swampmother for mercy.
What choice had the Swampmother? It was many voices as one voice against merely the happiness of two lovers, idle from their destined posts. And so She picked a gadfly, a special gadfly, She picked a fly and sharpened its teeth to points that sliced the very air around them as it buzzed. This gadfly She took, and She loosed it upon the Moon.
The first bite raked like a vine whip, barb-tipped, across her flank - but she would not budge, for who would move if they had run and run, and finally found happiness? The second bite stabbed like the ragged fangs of a crocodile, and now she must spring to her hooves, shaking off the worm like a yelping hound. The third bite was venom, and ripped through to bone. Her heart screamed, her heart screamed and screamed to part from the buck that had risen in alarm like a golden wave, but it burned, it burned where his fire did not, and it burned through her bones. A kick, a leap - and off like a shot she was, on the run once more.
Moon ran and ran, the gadfly never far and Sun behind them chasing, always chasing. They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, each stinging bite the unbearable agony of a million thorns. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones; crying, crying, never stopping, bleeding out the fruits of their love.
The first, she left on a forbidding peak, wind-worn and eternal. The fruit swelled, ripened, burst, to spill out a foal that would grow into a sturdy buck, dauntless and wise. This came to be known as the Old Mountain, shining fearless from the highest spire to lead all kimeti after. The second, in a tangle of roots, became the Mangrove, the gentle lover, a steadfast guide. And then Moon was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, but there were more - more - and so, heralded with a heartrent cry, came two seeds within one sac, as she flickered and faded into the Swampmother's sky: the Twins, one buck, one doe, all sparkling light. But no - no - she was not finished, she would not be finished, Swampmother give her strength; fill, fill back into a she, and there, the last: laid in a tri-forked crag, ever constant and ever giving, always giving, the Three Horn.
Emptied now, still Moon ran, every bite from the gadfly spurring her helplessly onward. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth; wasting and wasting, waning, wasting. When she could run no more, melting like a whisper back into the dark, her children lit the night in her stead. But always she returned, waxing back into a doe to gallop on. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, wasting and waning and waning and waxing, till it was that all creatures could learn to tell how many a night had passed from her path, and they called the full course, too, a moon.
And many moons she ran. Many, many moons, crying, crying, wasting, waning, fading, vanished, and yet wax again - but why? It is strange how, once held, that which was lived without becomes impossible to forsake; before, she had fled from him, and now she wished nothing better than to flee to him. She could glimpse her children, strong and proud, time to time as she raced through the night - but her love, with bright hair flying, she could never see, always behind her, the heat of his flame, the crack of his hooves, always the gadfly between them. And so she ran, many moons she ran, crying, crying, from a million thorns and her screaming heart - until finally she thought to outrun the gadfly, into her love.
And why not? Had she not crossed her love's path precisely that way before? If she raced - if she flew - fast, fast enough, perhaps the gadfly would falter behind, and spare her a second's solace. So, slowly, slowly, in the circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, slowly, slowly, she raced, faster, faster. Slowly, slowly, faster, faster - faster - till she saw not the sky, saw not her children, knew not it was night, knew not it was day, knew only that she could sense the heat, closer and closer, the crack of his hooves, nearer and nearer, and she ran and she ran and she ran - and finally she felt not the sting of the gadfly, only her love's welcome flame as she ran into the Sun once again.
The world was dark. They saw only each other. She leaned into his fire, and it tenderly caressed her. He gazed upon her without speaking, and she knew love. There they stood, entwined, in the blessed dark, after the passage of so many, many moons. Even in the blessed dark, the gadfly took but mere moments to find her again.
And so it is, to this day, Moon and Sun always on the run, the gadfly between. It is said that if you watch the Sun long enough, you can see it ripple, through his body the fire ripple, a silent plea: 'when?' But Moon, wasting, wasting, waning, waxing, wasting, has no reply; Moon runs everlong. Some years she can only race so far, and they have mere moments; some years she is faster, and they lie together before the gadfly stings once more. From these years, we know of the Hunter, the Familiar, the Winged One, the entrancing Web - the Father Star, the Trickster, the Firefly, and the patient Half-Bloom; there are many stars beside, and many stars yet.
Does the Motherfather weep for Her first children, separated by so cruel a trick of Her own doing? Kimeti have noticed that when She weeps rain, the Sun is dimmed and the Moon hidden, and perhaps She cries so they may touch comforting noses across a dusky divide, the gadfly for the moment stayed.
But there are many more things the Motherfather has to weep for, so perhaps not.
When the Motherfather galloped the world into being, all was dark, and so She made the sun by which to survey Her goodly work. All creatures, She knew, would hence gaze upon this light, and so She set about to craft a being worthy of such honour. And such a being She did craft, painted out of living fire - a vibrant, strong-limbed body, tossing a mane of trailing flame behind a noble head with blazing eyes. It may not precisely have been a kimeti, but all kimeti since, in some ways less, in some ways more, have been made in this image.
And so Sun held station in the sky, lighting the land with his blinding flame as the Motherfather raised breath in Her infant world - here, rocky mountains with their soaring eagles; there, shifting oceans with their diving fish; and that which pleased Her most of all, the Swamp, with all manners of life that reached up to the light overhead. The world was bright, the Swamp at peace, and the Motherfather, for the moment, content with Her creation.
But too much of any one thing kills, and the Sun was too much fire. He moved, restless, back and forth in the sky, for too much fire parches and he was parched; the heat of his own flesh consumed him, ceaselessly. He could not close his eyes but that his own light blinded; he could not rest his haunch but that his own flame burned. He moved, restless; the more he tossed, the more he burned, and under his endless blaze the Swamp began to wither. This, the Motherfather saw, and She knew the dark must return; so She drew a veil across the sky, and sent Sun to burn beneath the earth.
The Motherfather thought and watched as Her trees slept and healed their wounded leaves; the Motherfather watched and thought as Her creatures plumped nests and crawled into their sanctuary. She thought and watched as yet others squeaked and stumbled in the blackness, and watched and thought and finally rose to complete Her night. With the lightest breath, She sketched a tender frame: four-limbed, like Sun, but lithe and slender, with eloquent eyes that glowed like tranquil lakes. Across her dusted coat rippled a gentle glimmer of twinkling lights; this was Moon, and the Motherfather drifted her into the dark to guide the way. And that was when Sun saw Moon.
Sun saw Moon - her thoughtful face, her comely figure. Sun saw Moon, her glimmering coat, across which, far, far as he stood, a faint light of his fires still played. Sun saw Moon, and he saw the serenity to his ceaseless fire. She would calm him, he knew, she would soothe him, he knew; she would quench his searing flame, that burned and burned, and parched and scorched and burned - she would save him. Sun saw Moon, and so, towards his salvation, Sun began to run.
Moon, new-born, knew nothing of the Sun. Solitary in the darkness, silent in the darkness, safe; Moon cast soft, seeking eyes over the world, that she might learn. But for now she knew nothing, and when the light began to glow, brighter, brighter, the flame began to spread, closer, closer, the fire began to burn, hurtling towards her - Moon knew nothing of need, or kindness, of desperation, or compassion, of desire, or love; Moon knew only fear. And so she fled.
They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, the frightened doe never looking back at the buck with bright hair flying. She could feel his burning heat behind her, hear the crack of his galloping hooves, and she knew only fear. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, till the bones themselves flickered and she vanished back into the Swampmother's sky - a mere glimmer, a thought, the faintest notion, till it took panicked spirit from the closing fire and waxed back into a she, and once again renewed her path. Running, running, never stopping, and always, always, behind her he chased. In circles they ran, always running: where he blazed the sky, it was day; where she streaked the dark, it was night. And so, with half day and half night, all things below found their best ways to live. Till one day: one day, Moon ran too fast, too far, too fast and too far, straight into the path of the Sun -
- and the world went dark.
She stood in his fire, and it did not burn her. He beseeched her without speaking, and she was no longer afraid.
No longer scorching was Sun's flame, it rippled gentle against Moon's cool flesh. She had quenched his heat, as he had known; she had cured his pain, as he had known. The dark was soothing, and so they lay together in it, the corona of their burgeoning love the only light, lapping softly at the edges of their forms entwined.
But too much of any one thing kills, and it was too much dark. The trees that had reached to the light now began to fall, further, further, till their leaves brushed the ground, and broke to join it. The creatures that had basked in the warmth curled up in their nests, tighter, tighter, till they knew no longer how to leave, and shrivelled in their sanctuary. The Swamp began to die. And so it cried, many little voices as one voice, to the Swampmother for mercy.
What choice had the Swampmother? It was many voices as one voice against merely the happiness of two lovers, idle from their destined posts. And so She picked a gadfly, a special gadfly, She picked a fly and sharpened its teeth to points that sliced the very air around them as it buzzed. This gadfly She took, and She loosed it upon the Moon.
The first bite raked like a vine whip, barb-tipped, across her flank - but she would not budge, for who would move if they had run and run, and finally found happiness? The second bite stabbed like the ragged fangs of a crocodile, and now she must spring to her hooves, shaking off the worm like a yelping hound. The third bite was venom, and ripped through to bone. Her heart screamed, her heart screamed and screamed to part from the buck that had risen in alarm like a golden wave, but it burned, it burned where his fire did not, and it burned through her bones. A kick, a leap - and off like a shot she was, on the run once more.
Moon ran and ran, the gadfly never far and Sun behind them chasing, always chasing. They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, each stinging bite the unbearable agony of a million thorns. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones; crying, crying, never stopping, bleeding out the fruits of their love.
The first, she left on a forbidding peak, wind-worn and eternal. The fruit swelled, ripened, burst, to spill out a foal that would grow into a sturdy buck, dauntless and wise. This came to be known as the Old Mountain, shining fearless from the highest spire to lead all kimeti after. The second, in a tangle of roots, became the Mangrove, the gentle lover, a steadfast guide. And then Moon was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, but there were more - more - and so, heralded with a heartrent cry, came two seeds within one sac, as she flickered and faded into the Swampmother's sky: the Twins, one buck, one doe, all sparkling light. But no - no - she was not finished, she would not be finished, Swampmother give her strength; fill, fill back into a she, and there, the last: laid in a tri-forked crag, ever constant and ever giving, always giving, the Three Horn.
Emptied now, still Moon ran, every bite from the gadfly spurring her helplessly onward. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth; wasting and wasting, waning, wasting. When she could run no more, melting like a whisper back into the dark, her children lit the night in her stead. But always she returned, waxing back into a doe to gallop on. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, wasting and waning and waning and waxing, till it was that all creatures could learn to tell how many a night had passed from her path, and they called the full course, too, a moon.
And many moons she ran. Many, many moons, crying, crying, wasting, waning, fading, vanished, and yet wax again - but why? It is strange how, once held, that which was lived without becomes impossible to forsake; before, she had fled from him, and now she wished nothing better than to flee to him. She could glimpse her children, strong and proud, time to time as she raced through the night - but her love, with bright hair flying, she could never see, always behind her, the heat of his flame, the crack of his hooves, always the gadfly between them. And so she ran, many moons she ran, crying, crying, from a million thorns and her screaming heart - until finally she thought to outrun the gadfly, into her love.
And why not? Had she not crossed her love's path precisely that way before? If she raced - if she flew - fast, fast enough, perhaps the gadfly would falter behind, and spare her a second's solace. So, slowly, slowly, in the circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, slowly, slowly, she raced, faster, faster. Slowly, slowly, faster, faster - faster - till she saw not the sky, saw not her children, knew not it was night, knew not it was day, knew only that she could sense the heat, closer and closer, the crack of his hooves, nearer and nearer, and she ran and she ran and she ran - and finally she felt not the sting of the gadfly, only her love's welcome flame as she ran into the Sun once again.
The world was dark. They saw only each other. She leaned into his fire, and it tenderly caressed her. He gazed upon her without speaking, and she knew love. There they stood, entwined, in the blessed dark, after the passage of so many, many moons. Even in the blessed dark, the gadfly took but mere moments to find her again.
And so it is, to this day, Moon and Sun always on the run, the gadfly between. It is said that if you watch the Sun long enough, you can see it ripple, through his body the fire ripple, a silent plea: 'when?' But Moon, wasting, wasting, waning, waxing, wasting, has no reply; Moon runs everlong. Some years she can only race so far, and they have mere moments; some years she is faster, and they lie together before the gadfly stings once more. From these years, we know of the Hunter, the Familiar, the Winged One, the entrancing Web - the Father Star, the Trickster, the Firefly, and the patient Half-Bloom; there are many stars beside, and many stars yet.
Does the Motherfather weep for Her first children, separated by so cruel a trick of Her own doing? Kimeti have noticed that when She weeps rain, the Sun is dimmed and the Moon hidden, and perhaps She cries so they may touch comforting noses across a dusky divide, the gadfly for the moment stayed.
But there are many more things the Motherfather has to weep for, so perhaps not.
Entry from Tiarana
MOON AND SUN
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Username one: Tiarana
Username two: Phoenix Songbird
Notes about this entry: I guess we took some liberties. XD Considering Stargarden's backstory, I thought it would be alright!
Man we wrote a whole lot. derp. I will let the story speak for itself! (hopefully it is clear enough what is going on, etc...)
Quote:
------Prologue: The Beginning of the End------
As the sun falls, the Kimeti gather in the clearing, whispering eagerly as they await the storyteller. An ancient stag steps into the center of the group and the younger Kimeti fall silent, eager to hear his tale. He glances around the group briefly, inspecting the eager faces. Then, drawing in a great breath, he begins.
"Long ago, the Sun and the Moon fell in love. Every few weeks, the Sun would chase the Moon across the sky and the Moon would eventually tire and allow the Sun to catch her. None of the mortal creatures of Matope noticed the games of the Sun and the Moon, so busy were they with their own existences. But the stars noticed, looked on, and said nothing.
“But after many years, the Sun and the Moon grew impatient of waiting weeks until they could see each other again. The Sun began to call on the Moon at all hours of the day and night and the Moon did likewise, eagerly visiting the Sun whenever she desired. Day and night lost all rhyme and reason. Sometimes all was plunged into darkness for weeks, and other times the Sun remained ceaselessly in the sky. There were droughts, and the ocean heaved tumultuously. The creatures of the Earth cried out to the Sun and the Moon to stop. However, in their arrogance, the spirits of the Sun and the Moon refused to listen. Finally, the Earth itself appealed to the Stars for help.
“The Stars heard the Earth's cries and convened a great council of their eldest to decide what action to take. After much deliberation, the assembled Stars handed down their verdict. 'Strip the Sun and the Moon from their seats of power. The sun and the moon shall continue to revolve, but without life of their own; only following the rules nature dictates. Their spirits will be forced to wander in lower, physical forms for all eternity, never touching nor speaking to each other. This shall be their punishment for neglecting their duties.'
“This ordain was given to the Sun and Moon, and both despaired when it was said. 'No!' the Sun and the Moon cried out. 'That is too cruel! If we were never to meet again death would be a better punishment. We would waste away even while we were forced to endure.'
“Hearing their grief, the Earth took pity on the two lovers. 'Such a curse for these two immortals is too harsh,' the Earth agreed. 'Once they are condemned to wander my plains forever, stuck in mortal flesh, surely it would do no harm for them to meet.'
“'You must accept your punishment, for you ignored your duties and abused your powers,' the Stars commanded. ‘But it would be unfortunate if you wasted away to nothing. You may meet, then, but only when your celestial bodies cross paths in Earth's sky.' And without another word, the stars used their collective power to throw the two spirits from the sky.
"And thus, the Sun and the Moon became Kimeti," the stag finished, moving towards a position near the outside of the circle. The other Kimeti sighed wistfully, eager to hear more of the story.
"Wait, what happened next?" a young foal whispered to him as a new speaker moved to the center of the gathered Kimeti. "I've never heard about the sun and the moon being Kimeti before!"
The stag smiled down at the foal enigmatically. "If you ever meet them, you should ask them yourself,” he replied softly.
------Strangers to This World------
The fall felt like an eternity. Stars flashed by in an instant and the heavy roaring of wind seemed to consume all else. There was no sound other than the wind. There was no light other than the brief glimpses given by the stars. But then there was no light or sound, only the suffocating stillness of the dark.
When the Sun and the Moon woke, they instantly felt the heavy burden of mortal flesh. Breath was drawn and it caused an ache in the chest as hearts began to beat. Smells and sounds began to overwhelm senses, kicking nerves into activity. The light was bright, enough to hurt the eyes, while the heat of the sun-baked soil was absorbed into the body. For many long moments, the two could do nothing but lay there, taking in the new sensations and contemplating their new existence. Then, with a great heave, the Sun began to stand, followed soon after by the Moon. They stumbled, struggling to remain upright like newly born foals, but eventually stood on shaking legs. “Are you all right?” the Sun asked the Moon, or at least, he tried to. His mouth shaped the words, but not even the slightest whisper left his lips. He tried again, but no matter how loud he tried to be, his voice remained hidden.
Seeing her mate’s frustration, the Moon attempted to comfort the Sun, going to lean against him to lend him her strength. But her attempts were in vain as well. As soon as she got within a hairsbreadth of him, her muscles froze. And no matter how much she struggled, her body rebelled and refused to touch her mate.
The Sun, whose mind had begun to clear, recalled the Stars' exact words, and in his mind he wept. His anger grew, but then, slowly, his mind cleared. He saw what would have to happen, and he became sad, knowing the Moon would not understand. So, without a glance, he quickly trotted away. And as he knew she would, the Moon followed him. Whirling suddenly, he drove her off, lowering his head and snorting. The Moon looked bewildered, then hurt, hurtling off in the opposite direction.
With a sad expression, the Sun watched her run, and then continued on his path towards someone he hoped would be able to help.
------Old as Time------
The Sun aimlessly picked his way through the swamp. He had paid little heed to the features of Earth and activities of its creatures when he had been the bright sphere in the sky. A sphere that now shone down on him as if to mock him. He glanced up and felt a pang of regret. It was probably his fault that they were stuck in this situation now; if he had only had a little more self restraint. And now he had driven her away like that, as well. The memory of her pained face was engraved on his mind, and the buck wept silently in anguish and frustration, paying no attention to where he was going.
Consequently, he was soon hopelessly lost. The Sun had wandered into a dense part of the swamp, where the trees grew twisted and oppressive, trapping the sky in their wicked branches. Roots and gnarled shrubs snatched at his hooves, which sank into the infirm muck and squelched with every step. He was too distracted by his thoughts—and green to the black ways of swamps—to notice his surroundings until he was sinking in muck up to his knees, with no way to extract himself. “Oh, hang it,” he thought to himself. “It would be better to just sink into nothingness here.” He sank slowly deeper, but the mud was thick and it was slow to drag him down.
Another Kimeti, an ancient stag, happened across the Sun as he was sinking. The stag watched the Sun for some time before speaking up. “So, the sun sinks, does it? Is this a sunset I am witnessing? Are you just confused, buck, or do you really want to sink into that mud and let the Motherfather take you away?”
The Sun startled at the voice and looked up at the stag in surprise. He had begun to fall asleep; the day had been long, and he was exhausted in both body and spirit. “I beg your pardon, sir? What matters it to you if I so choose to fall asleep right here and sink into the swamp, or—” he paused as the stag's words finally reached his brain. “What was that about the sun?”
“You're certainly the right color to be the sun! Yes, so you must be the sun. And here you are, sinking into the mud, setting, one might say!” The stag flashed a smile that was missing a couple teeth. “I wonder, why is the sun setting here in the mud? This is hardly the usual place for the sun to retire, but then, these days the sun has not been so inclined to do what it's supposed to anyway. Perhaps you really are the sun, in that case.” He leaned back and gazed skyward. “But I can see clear as day that the sun is still in the sky up there, hmm? Well, perhaps you still explain yourself, at least.”
The Sun felt another pang of regret at the mention of his recent irresponsibility, and he tried to slump further into the mud. “It's nothing for you to concern yourself about, but...events have led to my lover and I being forever separated, even when we are together. We can no longer talk to or touch each other, the result of a curse, but we almost certainly deserved it.”
The stag nodded understandingly. “That does sound like a tough one. But I think you might be giving in to despair a bit prematurely, sonny. Have you even tried to lift your curse?”
The Sun shook his head wearily. “But what is there to do? I can think of no way to remove the curse. Th oldest of the stars have placed it and there is no mortal that would have the power to remove it.”
“Well, you certainly think highly of yourself, if you think you know enough about the world to say your possibilities are already exhausted. But I think I know more about this swamp than you do, being one of the Motherfather's chosen and all.”
The Sun looked up hopefully. “Then, do you have any suggestions? Please, tell me!”
The stag gave a wheezing laugh. “I've got no idea, sonny! But I don't think I know enough to say it is impossible.” The stag pulled a vine from a nearby tree and tossed one end in the buck's direction. “Let's get you out of there, first.”
The Sun wearily grabbed the branch in his teeth and kicked against the mud while the stag heaved on the vine from firmer ground. “Just wiggle your legs a bit and you'll be able to move properly again,” the stag advised around a mouthful of vine. Finally, after great effort on both parts, the buck pulled himself onto solid ground next to the stag. Both lay there recovering for a moment. after which the stag introduced himself. “I'm Elm, by the way. Broken Elm. And you are Sunny.” The stag nodded approvingly. “Good name, it fits.”
The Sun did not argue. He didn't have a name, or the energy to advocate a better nickname.
“Just stick with me, and we'll see if we can't find someone to break your curse. Perhaps the Motherfather herself will give us a sign! But tonight, I think, is time to sleep.”
------Encounters------
The Moon stumbled through the swamp, too exhausted and distraught to care how much noise she made or how much of the plant life was crushed beneath her hooves. The Sun had acted cruelly, leaving her on her own without a clue as to why. The shock of being cursed and sent to Earth was enough, let alone being abandoned by her mate. Perhaps he hated her now? She shook her head in an attempt to dispel her dark thoughts. No, he wouldn’t have left her because of that.
Suddenly, a high pitched cry awoke her from her brooding. The voice was young and sounded a noise of distress. The Moon picked up speed but moving silently now to the edge of a small clearing.
There, before her, was a Kimeti foal surrounded by three, somewhat older Kiokote. The Kiokote seemed to be taunting the foal while he lay on the ground, shivering under their stinging words and harsh blows. Baby, they called him. Weakling.
The Moon bristled. She was not a mother, but her heart went out to the poor foal.
“How dare you!” she snarled, advancing further into the clearing. The four before her turned suddenly, eyes wide with fright and amazement. The ferns had hidden her from their attention early, but she attracted it well enough now. “You three,” she hissed, directly her glare at the Kiokote. “You three get out of here. Now.”
The Kiokote hastened to obey, tripping over themselves and one another to get out of the clearing. While the Moon no longer held any real power, she still had an aura that was frightening, especially to any youngling. Once the sounds of their hasty departure could no longer be heard, the Moon approached the foal, her demeanor softening as she neared.
“Are you all right, little one?” she asked softly. All he could manage was a quick shake of his head. “And what is your name?” the Moon inquired.
“A-A-Ash,” the tiny foal stuttered out.
“Very well, Ash. Perhaps I can help you return home?” She laughed softly. “I’ll make sure they don’t come back, all right?”
The foal nodded mutely, hesitantly standing. After another pause, he began heading west towards the setting sun.
------Heat------
By they time they reached the foal’s home, the sun had nearly been swallowed by the distant hills, and the subtle sounds of the swamp’s nightlife could be heard. Fireflies whisked from one leaf to another in a parody of shooting stars, flying at random but never colliding with one another. However, instead of the gentle splashing of water, there was only the bone-dry sound of their footprints in the dust. Dry clouds rose with every step, and settled softly behind them. The frogs were silent, for there were none left.
The Moon was curious at this. Wasn’t this area an extensive swamp? It was supposed to be a place that held more than its share of water. So much so that all life had adapted to living half in the water and half out of it. But such changes were useless now. Cracks in the now-dry earth seemed to swallow the reeds whole.
“What has happened here?” the Moon asked the little foal.
“A drought,” he replied woefully. “It’s been this way for as long as I can remember.”
“But surely it can’t be like this everywhere!”
Ash sighed at the adult’s ignorance. “We wouldn’t know. The elders had us travel for a day and a night, but we still found nothing. They won’t let us go any further, though; they’re afraid if they don’t know exactly where they’re going and they can’t get there at a decent time, half the herd will die from thirst. You see, we have a lot of very old and very young Kimeti, and, in comparison, only a few healthy adults.” The Moon nodded and soon became lost in thought.
When the two Kimeti finally reached the herd’s camp, there was a roar of cheers as Ash approached. One of the Kimeti even ran forward to greet and scold him for wandering off. However, the happy sounds were soon hushed as the Moon trailed Ash into view of the others. The herd stared while the Moon bore their scrutiny, trying not to look too uncomfortable. Finally, one of the older Kimeti stepped forward.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice gravelly but not unpleasant. “My name is Oak. And yours, young one?”
“I do not have a name,” the Moon replied, unwaveringly but softly. “I have, until this day, been the moon that you see in the sky.” A frantic whispering ran through the crowd at this, but elder did not look the least perturbed and spoke again. The herd quieted in order to hear his words.
“I see...” Oak paused. She was telling the truth, he could see as much, both by the light in her eyes and the pattern on her coat. “Then we shall call you Evening Sun, since yours is the brightest light during the night. It is a pity that the sky has lost one such as you.”
“But Father Oak!” a Kimeti protested, the one that had come forward so quickly to greet Ash. “We have seen the moon in the night! It has not fallen!”
“Ah,” the elder murmured, “but that does not mean its soul remains as well, Running Wind. Come, Evening Sun.” He gestured, directing her to a secluded grove. The Moon followed, too exhausted by the day’s happenings to rebuke the younger Kimeti’s words. Elder Oak walked towards the edge, where a bed of needles lay. There, he settled his old body upon them and continued to ponder the enigma that had walked into his camp. As time passed, the Moon grew impatient.
“Why have you helped me?” the Moon blurted out. “I am the reason you are cursed. As I cavorted with the Sun. I caused this curse on your lands. My absence caused the waters to dry!”
Elder Oak chuckled. “I believe you will see, my dear, that with time, all things will heal themselves.” With a pointed look, he nodded outside the grove. And as he did, the Moon noticed that the air had begun to taste of rain.
------No Solution------
The Sun and Broken Elm had been traveling across Matope for several months. Their journey thus far had proven completely fruitless; every Kimeti they had asked had offered no solution, and the Motherfather had yet to impart any suggestion to Broken Elm.
“Well, Sunny,” Broken Elm said, as they were resting near the bank of a river that had only recently been dry dust, “It looks like our travels together are soon to end.”
“And why would that be?” the Sun questioned. He had grown used to the eccentric stag’s ways, and he had a feeling that his older companionwould be missed.
“It's about that time again.” The stag looked up at the sky. “I've been watching the moon up there every night, and she's been crossing through the Mongoose's Tail lately. Means there's going to be a festival soon. It only happens every once in a while and I wouldn't miss it for all the foxbun fur in the world! We've got to go to Ghost Thistle's mound and join in. And then there’s this feeling I have, that maybe you will find your answers there.”
The Sun nodded, his hope slowly returning to him. “Very well, Master Elm. If that is what you say we should do, then we shall do it.”
------Bittersweet------
The stag lead the Sun on a winding path across Matope, finally bringing him to the venerable ground known as Ghost Thistle's Mound. Already, dozens of Kimeti had gathered here, bringing with them much food, high spirits, and even fermented fruit drinks. The Sun had never seen so many Kimeti gathered in one place before.
“What is the cause for this celebration? You haven't told me what this festival is for, Elm.” He looked around, hesitantly. Some of the does were giving him looks that made him decidedly uncomfortable.
“Really, it's any excuse to celebrate! This one is a rare one, which makes it all the more precious.” The old stag gazed up at the sky; the moon had risen in the morning, and both moon and sun now hung in the noontime sky. “Life in the swamp has improved since the sun and the moon got back to behaving properly again. Everyone's just looking to relax. Here!” Broken Elm cavorted over to one of the bucks with the fermented fruit drinks, and after some brief banter brought back a large shell full of the stuff. “Have some of this, Sunny, it'll put you right in the festive mood!”
The Sun sniffed the drink curiously, wrinkling his nose at its bitter scent, but imbibed it anyway. “I beg your pardon, but this is rather unpleasant flavor! What is this?”
“Oh, just something the young lads cooked up.” Broken Elm watched him expectantly. “How do you feel?”
“How do I feel? I feel fine...perhaps a little sleepy...why are we standing on the sky?” The Sun stumbled and lay down. “Perhaps I shall take a nap.”
“Drat,” Broken Elm muttered to himself, lapping the rest of the fermented drink from the shell. “It was the strong stuff.”
While the Sun slept, Broken Elm wandered amongst the gathered Kimeti, socializing and checking in on old friends. A small herd soon joined the crowd, eagerly mingling with the rest of the Kimeti. Broken Elm recognized some of their members, and hurried to greet them. “Why, is that my nephew there I spy? Oak, how are you doing, you old salt?”
“Ah, uncle, it's good to see you're doing well. Always a pleasure. You know, times have been tough, but things have been improving. We've had the strangest guest...” Oak smiled broadly, and began to recount recent events for his herd.
The Moon looked around, distracted. She had come because she was hoping to see the Sun here, but what if he had not come? Broken Elm glanced over at her. “Ah, is the moon looking for her sun, now? He's sleeping over there.” He gestured with his tail.
The Moon dipped her head silently in acknowledgment, then hurried to the Sun's side. “My love!” To her surprise, she found that she could talk to him, but when she tried to nudge him awake, she still could not touch him. “My love! Oh, my heart, do wake up!”
The Sun opened his eyes blearily, and stared at the doe, unfocused, for a moment. “My light!” he exclaimed, attempting to stand. The realization that she was actually talking to him sank in, and he sat up straight in an instant. “Is it really you, not a vision or an impostor?”
“It is really I. Look, the sun and the moon are nearing each other,” The Moon gestured eagerly at the sky where the two lights were close to touching. “Our curse is lifted for a time.”
The Sun, his thoughts now clear, quickly told her of his journey with Broken Elm, and what he had learned: nothing, it seemed, could break the curse. Moon returned his story with one of her own, telling him about the herd she had joined and now protected. The moon began to cross the path of the sun in the sky while they talked and then fell silent, closing the gap between each other until they found they could touch. The Moon leaned eagerly into the Sun’s warmth as he rubbed his head soothingly against her neck. And the buck and doe remained there for the duration of the eclipse, watching silently while the moon crossed the path of the sun, each thinking their own thoughts.
Finally, as the curse forced them to separate again, the Moon spoke one last time. “I wish we could have stayed like that. Forever. But until the next eclipse, my sun, I will...I will stay with my herd and protect them. It is not bad, living with the herd, as a Kimeti.”
The Sun nodded sadly. “And I will continue to search for a way to break the curse, forever, as long as it takes. Let us meet again, the next time this festival is held.”
The two fell silent again, watching the revelries together as the curse rendered their voices mute once more. They remained sitting next to each other until the next morning, when the celebrating Kimeti began to break up and return to their lives. And with them, the Moon and the Sun reluctantly nodded their goodbyes and went their separate ways. They would endure.
Entry from fluorescein
MOON AND SUN
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Username one: Appeal
Username two: fluorescein
Notes about this entry:
Quote:
Like wild, wild lightning the mangrove roots struck both the waters and solid ground. A wall of dubious roots weaved with the surrounding environment, severing the land into two unequal parts. More important than how old the mangrove was is the day it became not just a wall of demarcation for a specific filly and colt
Where one fits, one must go. He gave chase to the the foxbun as it skidded across the surface, and through the roots of the mangroves. Back and forth he jumped through the irregular holes in search of that bobbing fluffy tail. Sometimes he faltered and stumbled in the shallow waters, his bones still not strong and hide still too defenseless. By chance he saw twin flashes of white-silver in his peripheral vision as he crossed the salt-kissed threshold of roots.
Perhaps he had caught sight of the foxbun again? Curiously the colt wasted no time to sedate his need for answers, turning his head to where the corner of his eye begged. However, the curious colt did not find a foxbun in the mangrove's roots but instead a wide-eyed filly. She too had been chasing an animal through the mangrove, as observed when that mongoose so rudely jumped off a nearby root and onto the colt's head. It was only a moment, enough for the colt to nearly flail about as graceless as a frog with three legs, before it used the colt to launch itself up into the higher branches of the mangrove.
Insistent and roaring, there was a giggle tickling the colt's ears and he soon remembered that before the mongoose had invaded his head, he had seen a filly. His eyes were staring at her, and her eyes him. It was silent, but it didn't last long. They were foolish and lighthearted, chasing each other around the roots as they played tag. Often birds would chirp and deviously the two would try and see who could catch it. Neither of them did, but both would insist they had won before both the colt and filly found themselves in laughter but before they realized it the two had spent the entire day together in the cage of the mangrove. They had to leave before the dark set in and the dangers of the swamp became apparent but they both agreed to meet again at this very spot after the morning dew had settled, and then they both went their way.
It was certainly none other than the work of two divine creatures in the disguise animal skins that brought them together that day.They fell into the easy rhythm that of an old friendship. Endless fun made time blend as growing pains and the changing landscape were overshadowed by the thrill of the hunt. As happiness reigned, they continued their dance of wobbly-knees and oversized flapping ears bumbling after diminutive balls of soft-furred flesh. As she dazzled, he warmed. Their forms became more sleek, his hair grew wilder and she assumed an air of natural elegance. But faster than a foxbun or mongoose screeching to a halt, something happened that caused both the now-doe and buck to start counting time by their heartbeats. They had grown in their time together, but now time had betrayed them. The very thing that had allowed their friendship to flourish in the swamp had now become the very thing that would be the decay of it. The mangrove that had brought them together had now become a wall that separated them from each other. They weren't able to get past the walls, hips that now allowed them to stand tall and walk strongly preventing them from squeezing through to either side. All either had were small visions of each other through the small caverns of roots, fragments haunting them from the past.
They had spoke for awhile, trying to spend their time together despite their distance but it wasn't good enough. The buck could not make fun of the faces the doe made, and the doe could not tug on the buck's wild mane once his laughter became too much. Neither could light up any sky like this, not when they couldn't be together. Eventually, they had decided that they would not let the tree defeat them. How big could they really have gotten? They'd try again and soon they both found themselves still unable to get through and stuck there, unable to get back out. They were being outwitted by a couple roots and most certainly this had been the most embarrassing thing to happen to the buck since the day they'd met on this very spot, when he's flailed and cried like a filly when the mongoose jumped onto his head.
"Come on! You're not trying hard enough!"
"Says you!"
The bickering was perpetual but instead of darkening the situation it only seemed to add fuel to the fire. Instead of both trying to get through, they decided that one would go to the other side instead and being the man, the buck was the one given the position. Determined with the idea of making it to her and proving he wouldn't always be the colt who cried mongoose, he managed to get through some of the roots and eventually he could see her face staring in at him. He wasn't on either side now, stuck between what could only be defined as empty space.
He took his time to catch his breath before, driven by her insistence, dove head first in between the roots. He was out! He could see her looming over him. He laughed.
"Look at your face!"
He was happy and that happiness turned into uncontrollable laughter which soon caused the doe to turn tail and begin to leave.
"Wait!" He called, which inevitably caused her to stop and turn back around. "I'm stuck."
On this side, with her, the buck felt less cold, and more alive. The living wall still loomed, but the encroaching roots were downgraded to playful terrain elements. They stopped glaring at the songbirds who dared to make nests in their portals. Once more, time ceased to be. It wasn't certain who chased who, but the doe and the buck continued their hobby, driving each other faster and deeper into uncharted area. Time apart had caused them to shift their target prey from small animals to each other. Making up for lost time, they surmised. Like twin entities, they lit up the dark areas; his hair was strewn back, tangling among his horns and her tail thrashed wildly side-to-side in fevered glee. Carefree they were until their end of days. And after their bodies broke down and cooled, they had no choice but to continue their neverending pastime in the sky, shining down on the very mangroves that gave meaning to their pursuit.
Where one fits, one must go. He gave chase to the the foxbun as it skidded across the surface, and through the roots of the mangroves. Back and forth he jumped through the irregular holes in search of that bobbing fluffy tail. Sometimes he faltered and stumbled in the shallow waters, his bones still not strong and hide still too defenseless. By chance he saw twin flashes of white-silver in his peripheral vision as he crossed the salt-kissed threshold of roots.
Perhaps he had caught sight of the foxbun again? Curiously the colt wasted no time to sedate his need for answers, turning his head to where the corner of his eye begged. However, the curious colt did not find a foxbun in the mangrove's roots but instead a wide-eyed filly. She too had been chasing an animal through the mangrove, as observed when that mongoose so rudely jumped off a nearby root and onto the colt's head. It was only a moment, enough for the colt to nearly flail about as graceless as a frog with three legs, before it used the colt to launch itself up into the higher branches of the mangrove.
Insistent and roaring, there was a giggle tickling the colt's ears and he soon remembered that before the mongoose had invaded his head, he had seen a filly. His eyes were staring at her, and her eyes him. It was silent, but it didn't last long. They were foolish and lighthearted, chasing each other around the roots as they played tag. Often birds would chirp and deviously the two would try and see who could catch it. Neither of them did, but both would insist they had won before both the colt and filly found themselves in laughter but before they realized it the two had spent the entire day together in the cage of the mangrove. They had to leave before the dark set in and the dangers of the swamp became apparent but they both agreed to meet again at this very spot after the morning dew had settled, and then they both went their way.
It was certainly none other than the work of two divine creatures in the disguise animal skins that brought them together that day.They fell into the easy rhythm that of an old friendship. Endless fun made time blend as growing pains and the changing landscape were overshadowed by the thrill of the hunt. As happiness reigned, they continued their dance of wobbly-knees and oversized flapping ears bumbling after diminutive balls of soft-furred flesh. As she dazzled, he warmed. Their forms became more sleek, his hair grew wilder and she assumed an air of natural elegance. But faster than a foxbun or mongoose screeching to a halt, something happened that caused both the now-doe and buck to start counting time by their heartbeats. They had grown in their time together, but now time had betrayed them. The very thing that had allowed their friendship to flourish in the swamp had now become the very thing that would be the decay of it. The mangrove that had brought them together had now become a wall that separated them from each other. They weren't able to get past the walls, hips that now allowed them to stand tall and walk strongly preventing them from squeezing through to either side. All either had were small visions of each other through the small caverns of roots, fragments haunting them from the past.
They had spoke for awhile, trying to spend their time together despite their distance but it wasn't good enough. The buck could not make fun of the faces the doe made, and the doe could not tug on the buck's wild mane once his laughter became too much. Neither could light up any sky like this, not when they couldn't be together. Eventually, they had decided that they would not let the tree defeat them. How big could they really have gotten? They'd try again and soon they both found themselves still unable to get through and stuck there, unable to get back out. They were being outwitted by a couple roots and most certainly this had been the most embarrassing thing to happen to the buck since the day they'd met on this very spot, when he's flailed and cried like a filly when the mongoose jumped onto his head.
"Come on! You're not trying hard enough!"
"Says you!"
The bickering was perpetual but instead of darkening the situation it only seemed to add fuel to the fire. Instead of both trying to get through, they decided that one would go to the other side instead and being the man, the buck was the one given the position. Determined with the idea of making it to her and proving he wouldn't always be the colt who cried mongoose, he managed to get through some of the roots and eventually he could see her face staring in at him. He wasn't on either side now, stuck between what could only be defined as empty space.
He took his time to catch his breath before, driven by her insistence, dove head first in between the roots. He was out! He could see her looming over him. He laughed.
"Look at your face!"
He was happy and that happiness turned into uncontrollable laughter which soon caused the doe to turn tail and begin to leave.
"Wait!" He called, which inevitably caused her to stop and turn back around. "I'm stuck."
On this side, with her, the buck felt less cold, and more alive. The living wall still loomed, but the encroaching roots were downgraded to playful terrain elements. They stopped glaring at the songbirds who dared to make nests in their portals. Once more, time ceased to be. It wasn't certain who chased who, but the doe and the buck continued their hobby, driving each other faster and deeper into uncharted area. Time apart had caused them to shift their target prey from small animals to each other. Making up for lost time, they surmised. Like twin entities, they lit up the dark areas; his hair was strewn back, tangling among his horns and her tail thrashed wildly side-to-side in fevered glee. Carefree they were until their end of days. And after their bodies broke down and cooled, they had no choice but to continue their neverending pastime in the sky, shining down on the very mangroves that gave meaning to their pursuit.
Matope
FIRST WE HAVE THE RUNNER UP.
Jun and Maxx wrote a heart-wrenching and classic story about the Sun and the Moon.
They also were the only group that didn't get any familiars in the little pre-event raffle.
We wanted to give them something for this fabulous story, so Abbacus made them up some special familiars:
You guys might not have won sun and moon, but hopefully you'll enjoy these guys!
The turtle even looks a bit like your definitely-not-an-eclipse, cough-cough moment.
Jun and Maxx wrote a heart-wrenching and classic story about the Sun and the Moon.
They also were the only group that didn't get any familiars in the little pre-event raffle.
We wanted to give them something for this fabulous story, so Abbacus made them up some special familiars:
You guys might not have won sun and moon, but hopefully you'll enjoy these guys!
The turtle even looks a bit like your definitely-not-an-eclipse, cough-cough moment.
Entry from Jun D
SO WE BLINKED FIRST.
But I am going to keel over and it is already 6.30am so I am just going to put this here and go away and see if I can learn how to sleep again. Goodnight!
Username one: Jun D
Username two: Maxx D
Notes about this entry: Also known as East-to-West Side Story. : P
An alternative post-creation myth that some kimeti storyteller probably dreamed up to explain the sun, moon, stars, cycles, and solar eclipses more romantically…meant to be oral and theatrical and sing-song'y, thus pardon us as we bore you to death with endless 'See Spot run. Run, run, run.'-type repetition.
Originally it was also meant to double as their naming dream, but at 2k words may be a bit too long…but the dream would be at least a condensed version of this; we'd thought their personalities would be affected by it in the sense that the seeming inevitability of a neverending tragic ending would make them restless drifters for the earlier parts of their lives…until we ascend them ;D and as Legendaries they come to understand more and find some peace.
Jun wishes he had more time to think this through and not have had to rush after exams (and that we weren't so derp at oral tradition mythology). Maxx just wants to note that it was with a mixture of pity, amusement, and contempt that he watched Jun fall asleep at the keyboard several times on deadline day at 4am. Jun eyes won't even focus anymore, so he just wants to say good luck to all the entrants and that he'll cagefight you to the death for Moon if he has to. Thank you so much for your time!
But I am going to keel over and it is already 6.30am so I am just going to put this here and go away and see if I can learn how to sleep again. Goodnight!
MOON AND SUN
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Username one: Jun D
Username two: Maxx D
Notes about this entry: Also known as East-to-West Side Story. : P
An alternative post-creation myth that some kimeti storyteller probably dreamed up to explain the sun, moon, stars, cycles, and solar eclipses more romantically…meant to be oral and theatrical and sing-song'y, thus pardon us as we bore you to death with endless 'See Spot run. Run, run, run.'-type repetition.
Originally it was also meant to double as their naming dream, but at 2k words may be a bit too long…but the dream would be at least a condensed version of this; we'd thought their personalities would be affected by it in the sense that the seeming inevitability of a neverending tragic ending would make them restless drifters for the earlier parts of their lives…until we ascend them ;D and as Legendaries they come to understand more and find some peace.
Jun wishes he had more time to think this through and not have had to rush after exams (and that we weren't so derp at oral tradition mythology). Maxx just wants to note that it was with a mixture of pity, amusement, and contempt that he watched Jun fall asleep at the keyboard several times on deadline day at 4am. Jun eyes won't even focus anymore, so he just wants to say good luck to all the entrants and that he'll cagefight you to the death for Moon if he has to. Thank you so much for your time!
Quote:
There is a story not all storytellers tell, for some stories are always told and some stories must wait in their shadows. The littlest foal knows that when the Motherfather created the world, She ran the vast sky end to end, and with a great shake, loosed fleas from Her coat for the stars, and ticks from Her ears for the sun and moon. This is not that story; this is a story that the oldest buck may not have heard, the wisest doe may not pay mind, for no fleas were loosed, no ticks dislodged, and even the littlest foals knows otherwise. But there are many stories and even those in shadow must emerge to burn for a while in the flame. And then - who knows? Some might burn forever.
When the Motherfather galloped the world into being, all was dark, and so She made the sun by which to survey Her goodly work. All creatures, She knew, would hence gaze upon this light, and so She set about to craft a being worthy of such honour. And such a being She did craft, painted out of living fire - a vibrant, strong-limbed body, tossing a mane of trailing flame behind a noble head with blazing eyes. It may not precisely have been a kimeti, but all kimeti since, in some ways less, in some ways more, have been made in this image.
And so Sun held station in the sky, lighting the land with his blinding flame as the Motherfather raised breath in Her infant world - here, rocky mountains with their soaring eagles; there, shifting oceans with their diving fish; and that which pleased Her most of all, the Swamp, with all manners of life that reached up to the light overhead. The world was bright, the Swamp at peace, and the Motherfather, for the moment, content with Her creation.
But too much of any one thing kills, and the Sun was too much fire. He moved, restless, back and forth in the sky, for too much fire parches and he was parched; the heat of his own flesh consumed him, ceaselessly. He could not close his eyes but that his own light blinded; he could not rest his haunch but that his own flame burned. He moved, restless; the more he tossed, the more he burned, and under his endless blaze the Swamp began to wither. This, the Motherfather saw, and She knew the dark must return; so She drew a veil across the sky, and sent Sun to burn beneath the earth.
The Motherfather thought and watched as Her trees slept and healed their wounded leaves; the Motherfather watched and thought as Her creatures plumped nests and crawled into their sanctuary. She thought and watched as yet others squeaked and stumbled in the blackness, and watched and thought and finally rose to complete Her night. With the lightest breath, She sketched a tender frame: four-limbed, like Sun, but lithe and slender, with eloquent eyes that glowed like tranquil lakes. Across her dusted coat rippled a gentle glimmer of twinkling lights; this was Moon, and the Motherfather drifted her into the dark to guide the way. And that was when Sun saw Moon.
Sun saw Moon - her thoughtful face, her comely figure. Sun saw Moon, her glimmering coat, across which, far, far as he stood, a faint light of his fires still played. Sun saw Moon, and he saw the serenity to his ceaseless fire. She would calm him, he knew, she would soothe him, he knew; she would quench his searing flame, that burned and burned, and parched and scorched and burned - she would save him. Sun saw Moon, and so, towards his salvation, Sun began to run.
Moon, new-born, knew nothing of the Sun. Solitary in the darkness, silent in the darkness, safe; Moon cast soft, seeking eyes over the world, that she might learn. But for now she knew nothing, and when the light began to glow, brighter, brighter, the flame began to spread, closer, closer, the fire began to burn, hurtling towards her - Moon knew nothing of need, or kindness, of desperation, or compassion, of desire, or love; Moon knew only fear. And so she fled.
They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, the frightened doe never looking back at the buck with bright hair flying. She could feel his burning heat behind her, hear the crack of his galloping hooves, and she knew only fear. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, till the bones themselves flickered and she vanished back into the Swampmother's sky - a mere glimmer, a thought, the faintest notion, till it took panicked spirit from the closing fire and waxed back into a she, and once again renewed her path. Running, running, never stopping, and always, always, behind her he chased. In circles they ran, always running: where he blazed the sky, it was day; where she streaked the dark, it was night. And so, with half day and half night, all things below found their best ways to live. Till one day: one day, Moon ran too fast, too far, too fast and too far, straight into the path of the Sun -
- and the world went dark.
She stood in his fire, and it did not burn her. He beseeched her without speaking, and she was no longer afraid.
No longer scorching was Sun's flame, it rippled gentle against Moon's cool flesh. She had quenched his heat, as he had known; she had cured his pain, as he had known. The dark was soothing, and so they lay together in it, the corona of their burgeoning love the only light, lapping softly at the edges of their forms entwined.
But too much of any one thing kills, and it was too much dark. The trees that had reached to the light now began to fall, further, further, till their leaves brushed the ground, and broke to join it. The creatures that had basked in the warmth curled up in their nests, tighter, tighter, till they knew no longer how to leave, and shrivelled in their sanctuary. The Swamp began to die. And so it cried, many little voices as one voice, to the Swampmother for mercy.
What choice had the Swampmother? It was many voices as one voice against merely the happiness of two lovers, idle from their destined posts. And so She picked a gadfly, a special gadfly, She picked a fly and sharpened its teeth to points that sliced the very air around them as it buzzed. This gadfly She took, and She loosed it upon the Moon.
The first bite raked like a vine whip, barb-tipped, across her flank - but she would not budge, for who would move if they had run and run, and finally found happiness? The second bite stabbed like the ragged fangs of a crocodile, and now she must spring to her hooves, shaking off the worm like a yelping hound. The third bite was venom, and ripped through to bone. Her heart screamed, her heart screamed and screamed to part from the buck that had risen in alarm like a golden wave, but it burned, it burned where his fire did not, and it burned through her bones. A kick, a leap - and off like a shot she was, on the run once more.
Moon ran and ran, the gadfly never far and Sun behind them chasing, always chasing. They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, each stinging bite the unbearable agony of a million thorns. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones; crying, crying, never stopping, bleeding out the fruits of their love.
The first, she left on a forbidding peak, wind-worn and eternal. The fruit swelled, ripened, burst, to spill out a foal that would grow into a sturdy buck, dauntless and wise. This came to be known as the Old Mountain, shining fearless from the highest spire to lead all kimeti after. The second, in a tangle of roots, became the Mangrove, the gentle lover, a steadfast guide. And then Moon was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, but there were more - more - and so, heralded with a heartrent cry, came two seeds within one sac, as she flickered and faded into the Swampmother's sky: the Twins, one buck, one doe, all sparkling light. But no - no - she was not finished, she would not be finished, Swampmother give her strength; fill, fill back into a she, and there, the last: laid in a tri-forked crag, ever constant and ever giving, always giving, the Three Horn.
Emptied now, still Moon ran, every bite from the gadfly spurring her helplessly onward. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth; wasting and wasting, waning, wasting. When she could run no more, melting like a whisper back into the dark, her children lit the night in her stead. But always she returned, waxing back into a doe to gallop on. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, wasting and waning and waning and waxing, till it was that all creatures could learn to tell how many a night had passed from her path, and they called the full course, too, a moon.
And many moons she ran. Many, many moons, crying, crying, wasting, waning, fading, vanished, and yet wax again - but why? It is strange how, once held, that which was lived without becomes impossible to forsake; before, she had fled from him, and now she wished nothing better than to flee to him. She could glimpse her children, strong and proud, time to time as she raced through the night - but her love, with bright hair flying, she could never see, always behind her, the heat of his flame, the crack of his hooves, always the gadfly between them. And so she ran, many moons she ran, crying, crying, from a million thorns and her screaming heart - until finally she thought to outrun the gadfly, into her love.
And why not? Had she not crossed her love's path precisely that way before? If she raced - if she flew - fast, fast enough, perhaps the gadfly would falter behind, and spare her a second's solace. So, slowly, slowly, in the circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, slowly, slowly, she raced, faster, faster. Slowly, slowly, faster, faster - faster - till she saw not the sky, saw not her children, knew not it was night, knew not it was day, knew only that she could sense the heat, closer and closer, the crack of his hooves, nearer and nearer, and she ran and she ran and she ran - and finally she felt not the sting of the gadfly, only her love's welcome flame as she ran into the Sun once again.
The world was dark. They saw only each other. She leaned into his fire, and it tenderly caressed her. He gazed upon her without speaking, and she knew love. There they stood, entwined, in the blessed dark, after the passage of so many, many moons. Even in the blessed dark, the gadfly took but mere moments to find her again.
And so it is, to this day, Moon and Sun always on the run, the gadfly between. It is said that if you watch the Sun long enough, you can see it ripple, through his body the fire ripple, a silent plea: 'when?' But Moon, wasting, wasting, waning, waxing, wasting, has no reply; Moon runs everlong. Some years she can only race so far, and they have mere moments; some years she is faster, and they lie together before the gadfly stings once more. From these years, we know of the Hunter, the Familiar, the Winged One, the entrancing Web - the Father Star, the Trickster, the Firefly, and the patient Half-Bloom; there are many stars beside, and many stars yet.
Does the Motherfather weep for Her first children, separated by so cruel a trick of Her own doing? Kimeti have noticed that when She weeps rain, the Sun is dimmed and the Moon hidden, and perhaps She cries so they may touch comforting noses across a dusky divide, the gadfly for the moment stayed.
But there are many more things the Motherfather has to weep for, so perhaps not.
When the Motherfather galloped the world into being, all was dark, and so She made the sun by which to survey Her goodly work. All creatures, She knew, would hence gaze upon this light, and so She set about to craft a being worthy of such honour. And such a being She did craft, painted out of living fire - a vibrant, strong-limbed body, tossing a mane of trailing flame behind a noble head with blazing eyes. It may not precisely have been a kimeti, but all kimeti since, in some ways less, in some ways more, have been made in this image.
And so Sun held station in the sky, lighting the land with his blinding flame as the Motherfather raised breath in Her infant world - here, rocky mountains with their soaring eagles; there, shifting oceans with their diving fish; and that which pleased Her most of all, the Swamp, with all manners of life that reached up to the light overhead. The world was bright, the Swamp at peace, and the Motherfather, for the moment, content with Her creation.
But too much of any one thing kills, and the Sun was too much fire. He moved, restless, back and forth in the sky, for too much fire parches and he was parched; the heat of his own flesh consumed him, ceaselessly. He could not close his eyes but that his own light blinded; he could not rest his haunch but that his own flame burned. He moved, restless; the more he tossed, the more he burned, and under his endless blaze the Swamp began to wither. This, the Motherfather saw, and She knew the dark must return; so She drew a veil across the sky, and sent Sun to burn beneath the earth.
The Motherfather thought and watched as Her trees slept and healed their wounded leaves; the Motherfather watched and thought as Her creatures plumped nests and crawled into their sanctuary. She thought and watched as yet others squeaked and stumbled in the blackness, and watched and thought and finally rose to complete Her night. With the lightest breath, She sketched a tender frame: four-limbed, like Sun, but lithe and slender, with eloquent eyes that glowed like tranquil lakes. Across her dusted coat rippled a gentle glimmer of twinkling lights; this was Moon, and the Motherfather drifted her into the dark to guide the way. And that was when Sun saw Moon.
Sun saw Moon - her thoughtful face, her comely figure. Sun saw Moon, her glimmering coat, across which, far, far as he stood, a faint light of his fires still played. Sun saw Moon, and he saw the serenity to his ceaseless fire. She would calm him, he knew, she would soothe him, he knew; she would quench his searing flame, that burned and burned, and parched and scorched and burned - she would save him. Sun saw Moon, and so, towards his salvation, Sun began to run.
Moon, new-born, knew nothing of the Sun. Solitary in the darkness, silent in the darkness, safe; Moon cast soft, seeking eyes over the world, that she might learn. But for now she knew nothing, and when the light began to glow, brighter, brighter, the flame began to spread, closer, closer, the fire began to burn, hurtling towards her - Moon knew nothing of need, or kindness, of desperation, or compassion, of desire, or love; Moon knew only fear. And so she fled.
They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, the frightened doe never looking back at the buck with bright hair flying. She could feel his burning heat behind her, hear the crack of his galloping hooves, and she knew only fear. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, till the bones themselves flickered and she vanished back into the Swampmother's sky - a mere glimmer, a thought, the faintest notion, till it took panicked spirit from the closing fire and waxed back into a she, and once again renewed her path. Running, running, never stopping, and always, always, behind her he chased. In circles they ran, always running: where he blazed the sky, it was day; where she streaked the dark, it was night. And so, with half day and half night, all things below found their best ways to live. Till one day: one day, Moon ran too fast, too far, too fast and too far, straight into the path of the Sun -
- and the world went dark.
She stood in his fire, and it did not burn her. He beseeched her without speaking, and she was no longer afraid.
No longer scorching was Sun's flame, it rippled gentle against Moon's cool flesh. She had quenched his heat, as he had known; she had cured his pain, as he had known. The dark was soothing, and so they lay together in it, the corona of their burgeoning love the only light, lapping softly at the edges of their forms entwined.
But too much of any one thing kills, and it was too much dark. The trees that had reached to the light now began to fall, further, further, till their leaves brushed the ground, and broke to join it. The creatures that had basked in the warmth curled up in their nests, tighter, tighter, till they knew no longer how to leave, and shrivelled in their sanctuary. The Swamp began to die. And so it cried, many little voices as one voice, to the Swampmother for mercy.
What choice had the Swampmother? It was many voices as one voice against merely the happiness of two lovers, idle from their destined posts. And so She picked a gadfly, a special gadfly, She picked a fly and sharpened its teeth to points that sliced the very air around them as it buzzed. This gadfly She took, and She loosed it upon the Moon.
The first bite raked like a vine whip, barb-tipped, across her flank - but she would not budge, for who would move if they had run and run, and finally found happiness? The second bite stabbed like the ragged fangs of a crocodile, and now she must spring to her hooves, shaking off the worm like a yelping hound. The third bite was venom, and ripped through to bone. Her heart screamed, her heart screamed and screamed to part from the buck that had risen in alarm like a golden wave, but it burned, it burned where his fire did not, and it burned through her bones. A kick, a leap - and off like a shot she was, on the run once more.
Moon ran and ran, the gadfly never far and Sun behind them chasing, always chasing. They ran and ran, in circles they ran - across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, each stinging bite the unbearable agony of a million thorns. She ran and ran, never stopping, till she was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones; crying, crying, never stopping, bleeding out the fruits of their love.
The first, she left on a forbidding peak, wind-worn and eternal. The fruit swelled, ripened, burst, to spill out a foal that would grow into a sturdy buck, dauntless and wise. This came to be known as the Old Mountain, shining fearless from the highest spire to lead all kimeti after. The second, in a tangle of roots, became the Mangrove, the gentle lover, a steadfast guide. And then Moon was wasting, wasting, waning, wasting the flesh from her bones, but there were more - more - and so, heralded with a heartrent cry, came two seeds within one sac, as she flickered and faded into the Swampmother's sky: the Twins, one buck, one doe, all sparkling light. But no - no - she was not finished, she would not be finished, Swampmother give her strength; fill, fill back into a she, and there, the last: laid in a tri-forked crag, ever constant and ever giving, always giving, the Three Horn.
Emptied now, still Moon ran, every bite from the gadfly spurring her helplessly onward. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth; wasting and wasting, waning, wasting. When she could run no more, melting like a whisper back into the dark, her children lit the night in her stead. But always she returned, waxing back into a doe to gallop on. In circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, wasting and waning and waning and waxing, till it was that all creatures could learn to tell how many a night had passed from her path, and they called the full course, too, a moon.
And many moons she ran. Many, many moons, crying, crying, wasting, waning, fading, vanished, and yet wax again - but why? It is strange how, once held, that which was lived without becomes impossible to forsake; before, she had fled from him, and now she wished nothing better than to flee to him. She could glimpse her children, strong and proud, time to time as she raced through the night - but her love, with bright hair flying, she could never see, always behind her, the heat of his flame, the crack of his hooves, always the gadfly between them. And so she ran, many moons she ran, crying, crying, from a million thorns and her screaming heart - until finally she thought to outrun the gadfly, into her love.
And why not? Had she not crossed her love's path precisely that way before? If she raced - if she flew - fast, fast enough, perhaps the gadfly would falter behind, and spare her a second's solace. So, slowly, slowly, in the circles she ran, across the vast sky, beneath the deep earth, slowly, slowly, she raced, faster, faster. Slowly, slowly, faster, faster - faster - till she saw not the sky, saw not her children, knew not it was night, knew not it was day, knew only that she could sense the heat, closer and closer, the crack of his hooves, nearer and nearer, and she ran and she ran and she ran - and finally she felt not the sting of the gadfly, only her love's welcome flame as she ran into the Sun once again.
The world was dark. They saw only each other. She leaned into his fire, and it tenderly caressed her. He gazed upon her without speaking, and she knew love. There they stood, entwined, in the blessed dark, after the passage of so many, many moons. Even in the blessed dark, the gadfly took but mere moments to find her again.
And so it is, to this day, Moon and Sun always on the run, the gadfly between. It is said that if you watch the Sun long enough, you can see it ripple, through his body the fire ripple, a silent plea: 'when?' But Moon, wasting, wasting, waning, waxing, wasting, has no reply; Moon runs everlong. Some years she can only race so far, and they have mere moments; some years she is faster, and they lie together before the gadfly stings once more. From these years, we know of the Hunter, the Familiar, the Winged One, the entrancing Web - the Father Star, the Trickster, the Firefly, and the patient Half-Bloom; there are many stars beside, and many stars yet.
Does the Motherfather weep for Her first children, separated by so cruel a trick of Her own doing? Kimeti have noticed that when She weeps rain, the Sun is dimmed and the Moon hidden, and perhaps She cries so they may touch comforting noses across a dusky divide, the gadfly for the moment stayed.
But there are many more things the Motherfather has to weep for, so perhaps not.
Matope
Matope
theCorniest
Colorful Contributor
23,450 Points
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100
hybridic
Obsessive Shapeshifter