Emberwolf

by Lucky Dreams

Lightning Forest

Scootawolf’s ruby-haired tail stood on end. Her body flared brighter. “What? No!” she cried. “Why would I wanna do that? This place is awesome!”

The Emberwolf shook its head. “You misunderstand, little wolf pup. Just watch me.”

Before Scootawolf could protest, the Emberwolf bounded down the hillside towards the treeline. Its eyes became miniature suns in its flame-soaked head; its tail glittered, and the ruby grass turned molten beneath its paws. Even Scootawolf, with her body of coal, fire, and crystal, cowered under the murderous heat which suddenly radiated from the beast.

Scootawolf noticed how quiet it was. The fire-birds had ended their song and the monkeys didn’t holler. The crystal animals had fled, every sparkling one of them. They knew not to stick around when the Emberwolf was on the prowl.

“Wait!” Scootawolf cried. “What are you going to do?”

The Emberwolf halted and sank its claws into the red glowing earth. It reared back and drew in a breath that must have been a hundred miles deep.

Then it obliterated the forest.

It released its breath, and from its jaws poured flames upon flames, fire upon fire! A tsunami of heat blasted Scootawolf onto her back.

She scrambled to her paws. “HEY, STOP IT!” she screamed.

But the Emberwolf didn’t stop, not even when Scootawolf scurried over and scratched at its fur and bit at its legs and kicked and shrieked. There was nothing she could do but gaze in horror as the beast’s lungs finally emptied, and its fiery breath ceased. Then the two of them stared over a forest with the life burned out of it. It was a devastation of trees. For a mile or more, the forest was melted, molten, scarred. Where once there had been crystal trees heavy with life, now there were stumps, smoke, and mounds of glass.

The beginnings of a rage-quake rumbled through Scootawolf. Her body shook from shock, and her tears burned – actually burned, for, with her new body, she cried tears of fire.

“What’s WRONG with you?” she yelled. “Why did you do that?”

Scootawolf couldn’t stand how calmly the Emberwolf replied. She would rather that it cackled, or perhaps lose its temper at her and snarl and growl. But this gentleness, this patience, was more than Scootawolf could cope with. “Just watch,” it whispered, before sitting on its haunches and peering over the ruined forest. In its eyes, Scootawolf saw the peacefulness of a starry sky on a December night. It was hard to believe this was the same monster that had just melted half a forest.

If anger had a taste, then surely it was the taste of the air in Scootawolf’s mouth. It was hot. It was like chewing a mouthful of peppercorns.

“No!” she said. She stamped a paw in the grass. “I won’t watch. Not ’til you say why you—”

“Watch, dear wolf pup. Trust me.”

Scootawolf huffed. She plumped herself down in the grass, hating the Emberwolf.

Then something strange began to happen.

The forest hummed.

Scootawolf wasn’t sure, at first, what she was hearing. But soon, it was unmistakable: a note so low that it reached inside of her and jiggled her organs. It seized hold of her bones and rattled them, and it stirred the core of her soul. Without having to be told, she knew that something huge was about to happen.

Then, suddenly, it did.

The forest grew.

The ground crackled with bolts of electricity – electricity in its ripest form, freshly drawn from the beating heart of the Earth. The bolts were all different colours, pink and red, green and yellow, blue and purple and violet. They shot straight from the ground, tall as giants and as thick as tree trunks. They forked. They splintered. Scootawolf thought that the forks and splinters resembled the branches of trees.

A clap of thunder shook the walls and ceiling of the endless cavern – and with that, the lightning bolts froze in place. They crystalized, turned solid, and lost their glow. There was a pause. Then clusters of gypsum leaves sprouted from the branches and formed a sparkling canopy, and amber shrubs grew from the forest floor. There were brimstone bushes, and glades of tall grass made from ruby and rose quartz. It was as though nothing had changed whatsoever, and that the Emberwolf hadn’t so much as touched the trees, let alone melted them.

The Buried Continent held its breath…

Then the fire-birds flocked back to the trees and sang their music.

Life had returned to the forest.

Startling ferocity awoke in Scootawolf’s beating heart. She had never wanted anything so badly as for the Emberwolf to teach her it’s secrets: to show how to destroy a forest then bring it back to life. She would have given anything. She would have chopped her soul in half, then handed away her half-a-soul with a smile if only the Emberwolf would tell her how to breathe a firestorm: because, as she stared at the newly grown forest, the last few months flashed through her mind, and it made her want to SMASH things.

(“Think of Scootaloo,” Mom had screamed to Scootawolf’s father.)

Scootawolf pawed the ground.

(“Why don't you smile anymore?” Sweetie Belle had asked her in the living room a day beforehoof.)

Scootawolf’s breath was quick and shallow.

(“You ain’t the same no more!” Apple Bloom always told her these days. “We miss the real Scootaloo. You’re hiding her away, and we miss her.”)

Scootawolf growled. She wanted to unleash her anger on the forest and destroy the trees, break the branches, shatter the leaves. Best of all, when the trees regrew a minute later, she wouldn’t have to feel bad about what she had done. She could do it again and again, as many times as she liked until all her anger had burned away.

She fixed the Emberwolf with a soul-deep gaze. Her voice was rich with excitement. “That. Was. Awesome,” she said. “How d’you do that? Show me, please, please, please! I’ll die if you don’t show me!”

The Emberwolf chuckled. “I should hope not. Not when I finally have somewolf to share my secrets with.”

But then the laughter left its eyes and was replaced with steel-seriousness. It crouched down to Scootawolf’s level and said, “The secret is that the forest regrows all by itself. You see, this land is full of life. Life is in the air, and it’s in the rock and in the magma: for we are close, so extraordinarily close to the very heart of the Earth. This very instant, we stand a mere dozen miles right above it! And for dozens of miles all around it, everything grows. Everything flourishes. So, do not worry about harming the forest. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. It is impossible. There is too much magic, here.”

“But – how d’you breathe so much fire?” Scootawolf blurted.

“You must draw upon your soul-fire,” came the Emberwolf’s response. “You must reach into the foundations of your heart. That’s where you’ll find it.”

“Find what? What will I find?"

“Your Heart of Hearts,” the beast replied in a whisper. “The part of you that makes you you.”

Scootawolf stared at the Emberwolf in wonder. “How do I find my Heart of Hearts?” she whispered back.

“I will help you, dear wolf pup. Be still. Be silent. Close your eyes and trust in my words.”

Comments

[Edguy0009]

Fire doesn't just destroy the forest it also cleanses away the weak old growth so that the strong new may grow and flourish just as one who is baptized in fire is also cleansed and emerges stronger than before.