Her fur, gleaming visages of shattered ice, strong but yet broken. Her eyes, twin moons that rested, owls in their hollows, to sleep the day away.

And as the owls had their wings, so too did her brother, large, fluffy clouds that nested on the sky.

They danced through the hours, one moving the moons in harsh labour and the other decorating the sky in creative vision.

Then, the lunar goddess fell, and there came the a lake of bright red hot blood. It pooled in a crevice if the sky, and threw out its light towards the earth.

The sun shone with splendid and intensity, so much so that her brother shrivelled and perished too, his blood cool and as blue as the sky he had crafted.

He was lower, and so his fell to the earth and splashed into valleys, tunnels and streaked the sides of mountains.

And so we drink the blood of the brother and bask in the sister's nourishing rays. We are all connected.

- Praise to the lunar goddess, regarded as one of the loved tales of the Waning Winds Pack.