Wapun Meadow tears of blood

The red light bathed his pale fur in blood, and Phocion dipped his head, his cry echoing over the plains. As in all rituals, his spirit, his being, had detached itself from his body, and hung just slightly ahead; he felt nothing, not the ground on his toes or the wind against his pelt. The priest, for now, had left his earthly prison and was one with the spirits that hung around him, their whispers thin and keening.

His icy gaze fell upon two that had emerged, one familiar to him, one not. But in his reverie, he didn't recognize their faces, and soon, his mind fancied more and more joining them, until he was staring at a crowd, gathered in solidarity, waiting fervently for his next word.

His eyes grew both saddened and scornful as he stared at his audience, jaw tight. "You all know the story," he finally declared, after a beat of silence had gone by. "We all know the story. It lives in our blood and in our bones." His head lifted to the sky. "But Fengari weeps, and begs me tell it again. So I shall."

The white priest, immaculately white pelt marked with blood, began to speak in a tone that was half-chant.

"In the beginning, there was no sun. Only the endless night. Out of nothing, Fengari formed, and created for himself a wife--Erastia." Phocion's nose dipped for an instant in deference, the name slipping sweet as honey off his tongue, then continued. "They had many children that dotted the sky like the stars we see above--for the stars they are, the ones that guide our way. In these times, wolves were kings and queens of the earth; all other creatures existed under our reign."

His tone grew bitter. "The brightest of the children was Iliana, and she was beautiful, more radiant than any child who came before or after her. But Iliana was jealous, and jealousy is all-consuming. She was jealous of her mother, of the light Erastia held." He again looked to the east, a growl in his throat. "One day, the envy overtook her, and she attacked her own mother while her back was turned. Swallowed her up, to take her light, her spirit.

"Oh, how Fengari's anger rocked the earth! He tried to fight back Iliana's wrath, but with her newfound power, his daughter was too strong for him. Her light was so bright that it turned the night into day, and the wolves--the children of the moon--from kings to peasants."

Phocion let out a despondent howl, longing for the nights that once were. How it must have been to rule the earth, in perpetual peace! To live in endless darkness, the world lit only by the moon and stars!

"Now Fengari is engaged in endless pursuit of his daughter," the white priest said hollowly, looking at those assembled. "Until he finds her and kills her, the world will not know peace. Wolves will suffer. The light of day will continue to taint the earth." He gazed down at the hare, its blood blooming steadily around its body in a crimson cloud.

"Tonight, we mourn. We weep tears of blood for what once was, what came to pass. . .and all that could be."