Before the desert was a less forgiving place and the old gods were struck with misfortune, there were buffalo elders who said their own elders remembered the dawn of the world when the stories of all tribes were new and had yet to be shared. Some even claim to remember when the first story was told. They knew the story of the first monster when the beast was more than a story. This same story will now be passed to calves like you, so gather around the fire and hear the warnings of your ancestors.
The buffalo duty is to love the world, to love the desert, and the plains as strongly as the land loves us. The first buffalo knew this too. Even when their ritual stampedes were too new to be rituals, they gave honor to the sand, dust, winds, and Alicorns so elusive. There was a magic to the dignity of buffalo that drives the heart of nearly every tribe, even then. This was long before there were many threats to face us peaceful buffalo. In these days, we knew that every buffalo face could be trusted and the hearth of every tribe member was thought to be a welcome place. We know that when the rest of the world returns to life each spring, we must stampede to our most sacred havens, and there we will be rewarded with new life.
Nothing is more sacred to a tribe than calves like you. In all the history to come, only that which is most cruel will seek to destroy the good of a young buffalo calf, who is so innocent and has so many stories to learn. Sickness robs a tribe of lively youth and wise elders alike. Southern jinn menaces those unaware of the world with riddles that lead to no good. Twisters are harshest to those with soft hearts who are still new to such fears. The chaos beasts bring the unimaginable terrors of the young to life.
Only the worst monsters look to the young as prey for their malice, and the most terrible in life are those who are not honest about their nature. They are traitors to nature itself, and it is only for them that curses should be reserved if you must ever say a curse at all. Fang, claw, and forboding magics are all marks of an honest beast. The first monster put even the deception of the shifting bugs to shame. Though this monster did not have the sharp fangs of a meat-eater or the claws like dragons who descend from the skies to snatch and devour us, there was something far more dangerous at hoof. No, this monster was beyond any stories yet to be told by the buffalo and the beast was here to upset the good of the world and any life that it touched on its way to Tartarus.
It began at one of the most sacred traditions of our kind. The cows and bulls from one of the first tribes our ancestors formed had reunited from their separate camps, and their hearts were eager to be warmed. The joining flame was to be stoked.
The shaman, chief, and elders arranged all of the eligible bulls and cows in a circle around the fire, which crackled with all of the scents of medicine and magic. Forming another circle to look on were those already joined in loving unions, remaining elders, and calves like yourselves.
Each hopeful buffalo stepped up to the fire and spoke their dream before tossing in a piece of themselves from their medicine pouch. Next, they excitedly watched as the fire sang with magic and the many colors within danced. The flames jumped and settled on curls of blue as rich as a cloudless summer sky, signifying the heart of the bull who had just stepped up would only want what the flames showed: the shape of a buffalo bull painted in varying hues of blue light.
The previous four bulls had gotten images of various cows at the heart of red flames.
The chief praised the bull, calling for any whose fire matched his to voice their desires, or to reveal themselves later in the ceremony. While this was a tradition that took place every spring, everybuffalo was eager to meet their match this particular spring, and you will know the same eagerness one day.
Would they like to join in courtship? asked the chief. If anybuffalo agreed, then the tribe would have to discuss the match. You too will know what it is like to have the elders discuss your own match. Give it time.
As the ceremony went on, bulls and cows alike were awed at the rainbow hues of the fires that revealed who they loved, and many matches were made. The elders were pleased. The joy and tenderness brought by the joining flame ceremony was a treasure in itself. The fire showed the warmth of the many hearts of the tribe shaping itself in the image of bulls and cows in varying combinations ready to build hearths of their own.
Only a few buffalo had not bared their heart to the flame and their tribe just yet. The shaman motioned joyously to one bull so that he might come up to the flame and do just that. This was no especially young bull. He had spent seasons of age without a mate, as some do even when we grow big and strong. As a calf, he had not shown any youthful fancy towards any other buffalo, and this lead many of our ancestors to quietly believe that his heart held only friendships, as some of those who are dearest to us often do.
Into the flames went his token, and the shaman waited patiently to read the fire's creation. All waited with the same excitement that you waited for this story, only greater than that. Feel the quickness of your heart and imagine something quicker, like the flight of a pegasus. That was the eagerness of the tribe. Together they basked in the warmth and glow. Our ancestors were like us at fire-times: they spent their time singing, dancing, and playing as streaks of color worked through the flames once more.
When the fire suddenly went out, fear seized our ancestors faster than the Arabians can sink in quicksand! No earthly forces could extinguish a joining fire! The ashes in the fire pit were shaking like calves in their parents' shadow and the shaman was bone-pale with worry. The bull by the fire wore his face stone-blank, and suddenly the elders were accusing him of being a wicked changing bug Tartarus-bent on stealing the love of the ceremony and the newly-paired tribe members.
If only that were so, young ones! Then, our kind would have been faced with a far simpler danger and not real evil.
Panic had now swept through our ancestors, who could recall no story from their own ancestors about times when the joining fires had gone out.
Before the bull could take even one step back, the flames shot up from the ashes once more! No longer were they any gentle color from the rainbow of the world. All that was gentle and good was gone from these flames. The pillar of fire was a searing bone-white that stung the eyes of all who saw it. Every last bit of warmth had departed those flames, now it tormented our ancestors gathered around it with a painful cold that they could not understand. Among this awful light was the visible trace of the ashes of what had burned with good and beautiful light, and they were swirling within this new terror lit of its own accord.
In that light so fearsome, there was the sight of a calf, whose firey face was twisted with such striking anguish. Mothers were weeping at the sight of the vision and some of the elders covered their faces with their hooves, knowing no time when the young had ever shown such hurt.
An outcry arose immediately. Every elder was now weeping with fear and brave warriors quickly stood between mothers and calves. Every buffalo now knew that this was no vision of love, but a warning of a hidden nature most vile. Here was a powerful sign that a lie had gone on for far too long. The shaman and chief of our ancestors dragged the offending bull before the terrible light while cows were quick to steer their calves even farther away to safety. The remaining buffalo stood as we all should in the face of such foulness, with horns lowered and hooves stomping.
Our ancestors' cries of anger demanded an answer, and the bull gave the confession of the evil that consumed him, one that he had been harboring for some time while his neighbors had wrongly gone on trusting him. Now, those same neighbors were rightfully protecting their calves and ready to defend their tribe. He said that the fire showed what was true, though the shaman and elders knew it had not failed. No joining fire ever had under even the worst of chiefs. With each horror the bull added to clarify his admission, outrage shook the prairie. The shaman and chief judged true: before them was a monster who just happened to be a bull. He had invaded one of the most sacred rituals of our kind and used up resources meant for all good buffalo for years. Now he was faced only with calls of righteous denouncement for being a curse to any tribe the more he walked among them and a threat to every creature, no matter where they were in the world or who their ancestors were.
United by the need to protect themselves and our home, the ancestors charged and chased the monster far, all their motions mirroring the stampedes we give to other evils. Horns lowered. Hooves fast. Beaten, broken, and begging for what he could never have, the limping beast was forced over a cliffside for his monstrous, unforgivable offense and guilt presented before his entire tribe. His death was mourned by none, not even his mother, who bitterly understood the grave offenses. The tribe vowed to spread the word of such horror to every buffalo under every part of the sky, and from that day on, all our ancestors vowed to be as good as the thunder that stampedes against such monsters that are the deadly drought of injustice in our lives.