Chamomile looked around at the gathered assembly. Nearly the entire tribe had turned out to hear her stories, from the excited kits in the front to the more dignified adults in the back. The faintest of smiles played around the vixen's lips.
Once everyone had arrived and settled, Chamomile sat on her haunches, tail wrapped tightly around her legs and making almost a full circle around her body, ears erect and body straight up. This was her signal that she was ready to begin the story. All the foxes fell silent and still. A breeze jumped down from it's treetop playground to hop the stone wall and dance through the multi-colored assembly of furs. It lingered with Chamomile, then rushed off to play on the grounds and peek through the castle doors and windows. And Chamomile began to speak.
"For as long as these lands have existed, so has The Maker. In our home there is much of nature represented. From the snowy mountains to the pine forest, the soaring cliffs and mighty ocean. And rolling hills that connects it all is where upon the castle sits. Never has there been a land more prosperous. The forests are lush and green, filled with plants and game to eat. The melting snow from the mountains bring pure water that falls and pools in the forest. The ocean brings food, rain, and the warm winds that make summer. And when she rages, the cliffs protect the land from the worst of her might!"
Here Chamomile paused to look around the assembly. Everyone, even the kits, seemed captivated. She continued the story.
"The Maker lived in the snowy mountaintops of the highest mountain. Occasionally he would come down to walk through the forest, or along the shore. His visits caused the land to thrive. It is said that among the deities, none possess a home as fine as The Maker. But, as centuries passed, The Maker could not help but feel a bit discontent with his lot. What good was such a marvelous place if he had no one with which to share it? He longed for companions with which he could share his ideals: the physical, the spiritual, and the symbolic. The physical and spiritual world were intertwined, each subtly affecting the other. Wasn't his very presence proof of that? Where the worlds met, they could create the symbolic.
Alas, The Maker could not find such companions. The animals that filled the land and water around his home seemed only capable of grasping the physical world. Though they could sense and, to some extent, interact the spiritual, they had no desire to. And so, time passed, and The Maker was still alone."
Again Chamomile paused, this time for a slightly more personal reason. Though she recited the story as it had been given to her, it was possible for others to keep a certain.....emotional detachment about. When Altair had first connected her to The Maker and the stories poured into her it felt not only like they were being told to her, but like she was living them as they were told. These stories held an extreme emotional attachment to her. Clearing her throat a little, Chamomile continued.
"It was one day, while Spring was young, that The Maker looked down from his mountaintop home and spotted a new and unusual creature. They were pale and walked on their hind legs, with flat faces and fur that only grew on the top of their heads. Instead they covered their bodies in the fur of others, or in a curious flat fur, all of which is seemed could be removed as the two-leggers desired. They were few in number and came from the territory of other deities, far away. The Maker was curious, and watched these two-leggers. They took and cut away stone from his mountain, shaping it and putting it together in an odd shape. They appeared to be making a den, a giant one in which many could live! I took many round moons, but they finished their den. More two-leggers began to arrive, and The Maker watched them. He learned the first to come were the males of their species, who brought their mates to the now finished den. Their kits were few in numbers, but quite energetic. They hunted for their food, but also ate the plants and berries from the forest. They kept animals trapped behind stone walls to eat later, and attempted to bring plants to life outside the walls of their den. The Maker felt hope, and caution. These strange two-leggers might very well be the companions he was looking for! And yet they seemed to have no connection to the spirit world. The Maker tried for many years but could not reach them. He still cared for the two-leggers, blessing their crops and keeping their animals fat, bringing them good weather. They wanted for nothing, and their numbers grew."
Chamomile paused a moment to let the audience paint the picture in their heads.
"Much time passed. The Maker slowly began to lose hope again. Of all the two-leggers only their kits could sense them, but none of the adults listened to the kits. They began to grow fat, and lazy. They took his gifts for granted, and defiled his land. Trees cut down, animals slaughtered, trash filling the ocean shore. It took them less than a century to destroy what had taken thousands of years to grow. Such is the nature of two-leggers. The Maker realized this, and knew he had to drive them away before his home became a wasteland under their uncaring hands."
This was the part Chamomile hesitated at. The audience was mostly kits. The Maker wasn't one for violence, this being possibly the biggest exception in their history. She decided to edit and condense.
"He drove the two-leggers away, calling on large storms from the ocean and giant rocks from the mountain. To make sure they did not return he destroyed the two-legger home, though kept an imprint of it in his mind. More centuries passed, but the two-leggers never returned. The Maker still wished for company, but did not regret his choice."
Chamomile smiled at the crowd.
"Then we showed up. The first members of the Caledonia tribe, though they were little more than a roving band of foxes at the time. Their leader was called Vortigern. They sought shelter from the harsh mountain weather, and came across the ancient ruins of the two-legger home. They decided to try settling in the area. The Maker was curious about the creatures who had crossed over the mountain he lived on to arrive in his territory. When he approached them he found they could sense him like any other animal, but had a much broader sense of reasoning, like two-leggers. Soon he was communicating with Vortigern. The Maker learned these creatures called themselves Modifoxes. They asked his permission to live on his land."
Chamomile stopped to give a small smile. Everyone in the crowd knew what answer was given to Vortigern, for they wouldn't be here otherwise.
"In return for following the ways of The Maker and serving him, he promised to give Vortigern and his tribe a home where they could prosper. And so Vortigern became the first Seer. The Maker raised this castle from the ground for the foxes to live in."
Chamomile sat straight and tall, staring out over the walls of their home. Her voice took on a wistful tone.
"We weren't the only ones drawn to this land, however. Caledonia is a peaceful tribe, with few warriors. When a rival tribe came from the west, a battle ensued over the land. Many foxes died. Tribe members who feared for their lives left to seek new lands and peace. Vortigern refused to back down, and pleaded with The Maker to help. He responded, sending a great snow storm. Without shelter and unused to the cold, the rival tribe grew wear. Vortigern was able to defeat their Elder and cast the from our lands with the help of The Maker. But, though we were victorious, our tribe was decimated. None who had left returned, and slowly we began to die off."
Chamomile stopped to clear her throat. Her eyes looked to hide a few unshed tears, but she blinked and they returned to their peaceful green color.
"Vortigern did his best by the tribe, but no fox can live forever. Before he died, The Maker passed on the identity of the Seer's successor. A young fox, barely out of kithood, called Altair."
Chamomile directed a small smile at their Elder.
"Under his rule, Caledonia lives on. New foxes join, and kits are born. With each generation the story grows, all of us the writers. By The Maker's generosity may our stories continue to be passed on over the years even when we are no longer here."
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