Fable

When the doombringer was younger, the change was colder. There was no hair on his back or the thick of fat around his belly or the mass of muscle to keep him warm. He was goose flesh almost the moment he turned, his feet cold blocks against the soil, his hands shaking as he made a tent of sticks and tinder. And by the time he was casting sparks with the flint stone, he was almost frozen through.

But that was when he was a cub, learning to be a bear. Now he is the mountain that can only be moved from within. Now his hands are still as he makes flame in the lichen and the sticks, though the cold bites into his spine like the fangs of the dagger wolf.

Some of his kind never bother with fire. Only man needs fire to cook his food and warm his body against the winter. Only man needs tools and traps to hunt. But only man can defeat man. To not know your human side is to not know your true strength. That is what his father taught him. But we are not like them. His father taught him that too. And, one day, he would have a cub and teach his cub the same.

The fire begins with a spark. Breath encourages it. Soon it is smoking, catching flame. A small flame that threatens to die even as it lashes its way into the wood. It needs more wood to live and so more wood is given. And once the fire is tall, it will hunt for more to consume. If it is not stopped, the fire will catch on the dry pine needles lining the forest floor. If it is not stopped, the fire will walk up the tall trunks. Nothing will stop it if it gets that far.

So circle it in stone and watch it. Feed it when it shrinks, let it hunger when it reaches greedy high. And when it is time to walk on, let the fire become embers, a pulsing glow in the first light. Spread out the coal black wood to falter. Cover it with soil to reduce any flame to smoke, smother it so it cannot breathe. And only when it is truly dead, walk on.

He would teach his child this the way he was taught.