"Don't go there, that's the river!"
Agu shot into the air and veered sharply to the side, snatching two puppy-like Feathered cubs with a single claw. Before he could even steady his breath, two others fluttered toward a leopard-like beast nearby, their eyes bright with curiosity rather than fear.
Agu swept his wing.
The leopard was sent tumbling away.
He turned, ready to scold them, when the two cubs burst into excited cries.
"Fight! Kill! Woohoo!"
They bounced in place, thrilled, as if they themselves had driven the beast away.
"This can't go on like this," Agu muttered. His feathers almost stood on end with worry.
These little ones were fearless to the point of recklessness.
Another day passed in constant alarm. Fires were put out one after another, barely in time. Fortunately, no matter how energetic they were, the cubs still needed sleep when night fell.
Agu watched them closely. They had grown noticeably larger.
"When they wake tomorrow," he sighed, "they'll be even worse."
So he decided to change tactics.
"If I can't chase them forever, I'll have to restrain them."
Drawing on what little experience he had gained, Agu began working before dawn.
He found a wildly growing tree and felled it with a clean strike of his claws. Leaning the logs against the mountain wall, he began constructing a shelter.
The problem was simple. These cubs had no concept of danger. Anything unfamiliar drew them closer. If something could be climbed, they climbed it. If something could be bitten, they bit it.
So the first step was to limit where they could go.
The trees in this region grew rapidly, remnants of the earlier miracle of life. Agu worked without rest, cutting, sharpening, and arranging logs into a wide enclosure. He wove thick vines between them, tightening each knot with care. Large leaves were layered over the top to form a roof.
Though he had never built with wood and vines before, his hands moved with surprising certainty.
By dawn, the shelter stood complete.
It was spacious, sturdy, and secure enough to last several days.
"It's a little dark," Agu noted, standing inside.
Moonlight filtered faintly through narrow gaps. Agu himself could see clearly even without light, but he liked brightness. He liked seeing things as they truly were.
Still, there was no helping it.
These cubs could already flap their wings. They could not fly, but they could leap. Worse, their bodies were mostly fluff. A gap that looked impossibly small was more than enough for them to slip through.
Agu sealed every opening and weighed the roof down with heavy stones. Only then did he allow himself to rest, sleeping at the entrance.
This time, no dream came.
He awoke to soft scratching and familiar sounds.
"Out. Out."
The cubs clustered around him, tugging at his feathers with beaks and claws. Agu stood calmly and brought out a large wooden box. Its center had been hollowed out, filled with wet soil.
The moment he plunged his claws into the mud, their attention shifted completely.
He shaped the soil carefully. Soon, a crude clay figure appeared, shaped like a Feathered cub.
The little ones froze, staring.
Then chaos erupted as they rushed forward to imitate him.
Their claws were clumsy, but their learning speed was astonishing. Agu worked slowly, exaggerating his motions so they could follow.
He pinched a clay beast, made it loom large, then opened its mouth wide.
"Roar."
He let it swallow the clay cub in one bite.
The cubs shrieked in alarm.
Agu laughed.
For the first time since their birth, he laughed freely.
Soon he soothed them and began shaping gentler figures. They gathered around him, absorbed, their energy finally focused.
Not far away, Elios watched.
For a brief moment, a smile touched his face.
It vanished just as quickly.
Once, long ago, he had smiled like this too. He had held new life in his arms and felt joy at its warmth.
That was no longer his place.
Now, he stood only as God, loving all beings equally, unable to step closer.
He hoped Agu would hold onto this warmth for as long as possible, before the weight of existence pressed in.
—
The peace did not last.
The cubs soon lost interest in the clay and turned their attention elsewhere. Wings flapped. Leaves rustled. One leapt up and caught a vine in its beak, swinging wildly.
The others followed.
Soon, every cub except Agu was hanging from vines, laughing as they fell and climbed again.
Then one bit into a red fruit.
The fruit burst.
Juice spilled. Pulp filled its mouth.
The cub froze.
Then it chirped excitedly and began searching for more.
Agu rushed over, inspecting the cub carefully. No harm. No discomfort.
He picked another fruit and tasted it himself.
Sweet.
Nourishing.
As he looked again, new information surfaced in his awareness. Nutrition. Energy. Seeds. Growth.
"Food," Agu said softly.
The Feathered People did not need food to survive, but it could supplement their growth.
That night, Agu searched for edible plants.
The next day, he discovered the deeper problem.
Even with plenty, the cubs fought.
They fought over the largest fruit, the brightest leaf, the highest perch.
There was no good or evil in their minds. Only desire.
"If this continues," Agu thought, watching them struggle, "disaster will come."
Now they only pulled feathers.
Later, they would draw blood.
And when that time came, how could they possibly fulfill God's mission?
Agu looked at the restless cubs and understood.
Creation alone was not enough.
Life needed rules.
"Don't go there, that's the river!"
Agu shot into the air and veered sharply to the side, snatching two puppy-like Feathered cubs with a single claw. Before he could even steady his breath, two others fluttered toward a leopard-like beast nearby, their eyes bright with curiosity rather than fear.
Agu swept his wing.
The leopard was sent tumbling away.
He turned, ready to scold them, when the two cubs burst into excited cries.
"Fight! Kill! Woohoo!"
They bounced in place, thrilled, as if they themselves had driven the beast away.
"This can't go on like this," Agu muttered. His feathers almost stood on end with worry.
These little ones were fearless to the point of recklessness.
Another day passed in constant alarm. Fires were put out one after another, barely in time. Fortunately, no matter how energetic they were, the cubs still needed sleep when night fell.
Agu watched them closely. They had grown noticeably larger.
"When they wake tomorrow," he sighed, "they'll be even worse."
So he decided to change tactics.
"If I can't chase them forever, I'll have to restrain them."
Drawing on what little experience he had gained, Agu began working before dawn.
He found a wildly growing tree and felled it with a clean strike of his claws. Leaning the logs against the mountain wall, he began constructing a shelter.
The problem was simple. These cubs had no concept of danger. Anything unfamiliar drew them closer. If something could be climbed, they climbed it. If something could be bitten, they bit it.
So the first step was to limit where they could go.
The trees in this region grew rapidly, remnants of the earlier miracle of life. Agu worked without rest, cutting, sharpening, and arranging logs into a wide enclosure. He wove thick vines between them, tightening each knot with care. Large leaves were layered over the top to form a roof.
Though he had never built with wood and vines before, his hands moved with surprising certainty.
By dawn, the shelter stood complete.
It was spacious, sturdy, and secure enough to last several days.
"It's a little dark," Agu noted, standing inside.
Moonlight filtered faintly through narrow gaps. Agu himself could see clearly even without light, but he liked brightness. He liked seeing things as they truly were.
Still, there was no helping it.
These cubs could already flap their wings. They could not fly, but they could leap. Worse, their bodies were mostly fluff. A gap that looked impossibly small was more than enough for them to slip through.
Agu sealed every opening and weighed the roof down with heavy stones. Only then did he allow himself to rest, sleeping at the entrance.
This time, no dream came.
He awoke to soft scratching and familiar sounds.
"Out. Out."
The cubs clustered around him, tugging at his feathers with beaks and claws. Agu stood calmly and brought out a large wooden box. Its center had been hollowed out, filled with wet soil.
The moment he plunged his claws into the mud, their attention shifted completely.
He shaped the soil carefully. Soon, a crude clay figure appeared, shaped like a Feathered cub.
The little ones froze, staring.
Then chaos erupted as they rushed forward to imitate him.
Their claws were clumsy, but their learning speed was astonishing. Agu worked slowly, exaggerating his motions so they could follow.
He pinched a clay beast, made it loom large, then opened its mouth wide.
"Roar."
He let it swallow the clay cub in one bite.
The cubs shrieked in alarm.
Agu laughed.
For the first time since their birth, he laughed freely.
Soon he soothed them and began shaping gentler figures. They gathered around him, absorbed, their energy finally focused.
Not far away, Elios watched.
For a brief moment, a smile touched his face.
It vanished just as quickly.
Once, long ago, he had smiled like this too. He had held new life in his arms and felt joy at its warmth.
That was no longer his place.
Now, he stood only as God, loving all beings equally, unable to step closer.
He hoped Agu would hold onto this warmth for as long as possible, before the weight of existence pressed in.
—
The peace did not last.
The cubs soon lost interest in the clay and turned their attention elsewhere. Wings flapped. Leaves rustled. One leapt up and caught a vine in its beak, swinging wildly.
The others followed.
Soon, every cub except Agu was hanging from vines, laughing as they fell and climbed again.
Then one bit into a red fruit.
The fruit burst.
Juice spilled. Pulp filled its mouth.
The cub froze.
Then it chirped excitedly and began searching for more.
Agu rushed over, inspecting the cub carefully. No harm. No discomfort.
He picked another fruit and tasted it himself.
Sweet.
Nourishing.
As he looked again, new information surfaced in his awareness. Nutrition. Energy. Seeds. Growth.
"Food," Agu said softly.
The Feathered People did not need food to survive, but it could supplement their growth.
That night, Agu searched for edible plants.
The next day, he discovered the deeper problem.
Even with plenty, the cubs fought.
They fought over the largest fruit, the brightest leaf, the highest perch.
There was no good or evil in their minds. Only desire.
"If this continues," Agu thought, watching them struggle, "disaster will come."
Now they only pulled feathers.
Later, they would draw blood.
And when that time came, how could they possibly fulfill God's mission?
Agu looked at the restless cubs and understood.
Creation alone was not enough.
Life needed rules.