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archiveofarethusaThere is an old folk tale that goes like this, which Holly sometimes tells to the younger sisters.
Before leopards were spotted, but not very long before indeed, a pack of them lived among the long grasses and beside the rising falls of the Northern Lands before the eternal snows set in. There they had the choicest prey, the juiciest and most satisfying to take down, and the fear and respect of even the faeries and demons. Fear was a distant concept to them, except to one thing: fire. Those were the days when fire could leave continents as ash for the sea to carry away, and had. There was only one cub which was too young to remember when the world was on fire and magma ran through the veins of every living thing, a curious, proud cub named Anouk. When the older leopards spoke of fire, he smiled to himself.
"Whatever fire may have been or may be, it would shrink before us today," he would say, and the older leopards would let him believe it. The days of fire were gone, after all, long enough to produce Anouk; the sun shone in the sky, and on none brighter than themselves. A little innocence had been earned.
When the fires came back, Anouk was away from his pack. As he hunted, many creatures passed him, shouting that fire had returned, but he paid them no mind. He had nothing to fear.
Time passed and nothing yet caught his eye - until he ran across a stranger made of wild, flickering light and powerful heat, with eyes like two terrible suns.
"Young leopard, will you not run?" it said, in a voice that crackled and sparked.
"What should I run from?" Anouk said. "You? You don't scare me. I am a leopard of the North, and you should know, we run from nothing."
"Then," said the fire - and it couldn't have been anything else, "have you never played tag? I am always it. You shall run, and if I catch you I shall burn your paws. I shall burn your head and your back and your tail, your ears and your face. Usually, I wait for no one. But, as you are a leopard of the North, I'll give you a head start."
From there the story varies, whether Anouk lives to populate the North with children bearing his scars or whether his death marks his entire race. Holly is very careful about which end she tells to which child. But there's another version of the story where the little cub is not so little or ignorant, where the leopard's spots were kisses scorched upon his fur by a more loving fire that burned so fine and bright even his children's fur smoldered with the passion. Anouk ran across the North with brushfires blazing at his heels, leaving in his wake fresh horrors and tangential stories that were told only in the light of day for hundreds of years, until one day the fire burned out and Anouk had no more strength for running; and when, years later, the first spotted leopard found his home being licked away at by brushfire, he leapt gladly into the heart of it, purring as he burned away to ash. This version of the story strikes a symphony of chords within her, and the melody is too personal and unsettling to let anyone hear, let alone children.
The day Helene found her way into Holly's mind, she had been reading that story. She tells anyone who listens that she could never understand Helene, but even still when she goes to bed at night there's flames crackling in her head.
Before leopards were spotted, but not very long before indeed, a pack of them lived among the long grasses and beside the rising falls of the Northern Lands before the eternal snows set in. There they had the choicest prey, the juiciest and most satisfying to take down, and the fear and respect of even the faeries and demons. Fear was a distant concept to them, except to one thing: fire. Those were the days when fire could leave continents as ash for the sea to carry away, and had. There was only one cub which was too young to remember when the world was on fire and magma ran through the veins of every living thing, a curious, proud cub named Anouk. When the older leopards spoke of fire, he smiled to himself.
"Whatever fire may have been or may be, it would shrink before us today," he would say, and the older leopards would let him believe it. The days of fire were gone, after all, long enough to produce Anouk; the sun shone in the sky, and on none brighter than themselves. A little innocence had been earned.
When the fires came back, Anouk was away from his pack. As he hunted, many creatures passed him, shouting that fire had returned, but he paid them no mind. He had nothing to fear.
Time passed and nothing yet caught his eye - until he ran across a stranger made of wild, flickering light and powerful heat, with eyes like two terrible suns.
"Young leopard, will you not run?" it said, in a voice that crackled and sparked.
"What should I run from?" Anouk said. "You? You don't scare me. I am a leopard of the North, and you should know, we run from nothing."
"Then," said the fire - and it couldn't have been anything else, "have you never played tag? I am always it. You shall run, and if I catch you I shall burn your paws. I shall burn your head and your back and your tail, your ears and your face. Usually, I wait for no one. But, as you are a leopard of the North, I'll give you a head start."
From there the story varies, whether Anouk lives to populate the North with children bearing his scars or whether his death marks his entire race. Holly is very careful about which end she tells to which child. But there's another version of the story where the little cub is not so little or ignorant, where the leopard's spots were kisses scorched upon his fur by a more loving fire that burned so fine and bright even his children's fur smoldered with the passion. Anouk ran across the North with brushfires blazing at his heels, leaving in his wake fresh horrors and tangential stories that were told only in the light of day for hundreds of years, until one day the fire burned out and Anouk had no more strength for running; and when, years later, the first spotted leopard found his home being licked away at by brushfire, he leapt gladly into the heart of it, purring as he burned away to ash. This version of the story strikes a symphony of chords within her, and the melody is too personal and unsettling to let anyone hear, let alone children.
The day Helene found her way into Holly's mind, she had been reading that story. She tells anyone who listens that she could never understand Helene, but even still when she goes to bed at night there's flames crackling in her head.