"They say the sun and the moon are greater beings.

What else could they be? Is there anything else with that glow? With that distant power? What that power we've never known. Or why they do what they do day in and day out. Do they wish to help, or are they bound to their work? There's no way to ever know. But they say we should be thankful for their work, and I suppose I am.

But they say there are forces even greater than the sun and the moon. Forces that wish to extinguish there light and leave us in darkness. Why they hold such ill will is just as much a mystery. But even after all this time they haven't succeeded. But not without trying. They say it bites and tears at the moon, leaving it to bleed down on us."

"No! Will they be okay?!"

"Look up." Tallow smiled down at the pup, "Do they look okay to you?"

Both pups snapped their heads upwards that their guardian thought their little necks would snap. Little Sparrow, the bleeding heart, gave a sigh of relief.

"Yeah. They're okay."

"Is that a true story?" Sparrow's brother, Turrin, pressed.

"It could be." A gentle lie, "You'll just have to trust me. Just know that no matter what comes to harm them, no matter how much more powerful it is, they will always fight. They'll never give up their post. Now it's late, and you two should sleep."

******************************************************************************************************

That moment was a  lifetime ago, Sparrow had long rotted away leaving only bones and an emptiness in her heart. But the scene that played before her rushed it to the forefront of her mind. As if her words could shape the future, as if the fairy tales were true.

The moon bleed.

When the light dimmed Tallow suspected the clouds were rolling in and much to her dismay another snowstorm might follow. It was a good thing she chose this hours to hunt before the going became slow. Curiously she looked up and stopped in her tracks. The moon had been full when it rose, or so she thought. Grey eyes considered the sight. Surely she must have been mistaken. But she couldn't shake the unnerving feeling as she made her way back to her den, for all need for a midnight snack had fled and she craved home.

It wasn't until the tree root den was in sight that the landscape ran pink that she froze like the snow beneath her paws. Head snapped back up to the moon. Tallow paid little attention to her surroundings and how long she remained there. She was transfixed. Pink turned to red, and red it remained. This was beyond her animal brain, but far from a crisis of faith. Even under this spectral Tallow knew no greater force was out there. No greater force would allow Sparrow's light to dim as she did.

There was a damn good reason they’d all been taught to fear and loathe fire.

To wild beasts, it was as a nuclear bomb, something barely controllable or containable, something that was almost... abominable. Alteron and Saboro had ever been arrogant nations that thought they could control anything, and to witness them coming together with no warning or explanation, that flame encased in crude torches and hovering about their heads...

He did what any devoted priest would do. He prayed, quiet and frenetic under his breath. He asked the spirits of Chinensis for mercy, Gigantea for cunning, Foetida for ferocity in the face of a terrible foe that had wounded them and come back to finish the job. He tried to return to their avatars, to warn and protect, a little bird bringing news of war, a pretty parrot reciting the words it had been taught. He called for help.

Let it be known that Oukoku-Kai went down snapping, that not all of them had abandoned their faith when the demons came knocking, that —

The denning area lay barren and unholy as any other landmark of any other woodland. A quiver ran through Tibet’s body. His teeth chattered anxiously. His stomach clenched and flushed him with nausea. If he’d a rosary around his neck, now might be the time he’d clutch it, but for an interruption that almost made him leap from his skin.

“Looking for your gods? ... Me too.”

An old black wolf, battered and black all over, tough as a frozen strap of horsehide, was emerging from the mouth of the polished cavern. His mane was wild, his eyes were wilder, and he was instantly familiar, even if the young women with him (encircling him?) were not.

Tibet braced himself, legs spread, tail against the ground, and named him with an enigmatic tongue.

“Crow.”

And company.

“Don’t you ever get sick from the smell of smoke?”

Literally. Metaphorically. It made Crow laugh a little.

”Pin him down, would you, loves?”