The moon rose eerily beautiful over the land. A red tinge to its yellow glow. He remembered long ago hearing that the moon, so far away in space, was made of cream cheese, and that the craters were really mouse holes, dug by a race of super intelligent mice. Of course, he was old enough now to know that wasn't true.
This was his favourite time. Three a.m., a time when everyone was deep in slumber. The land, the sea, the people, the beasts… even the nocturnal beasts slept. All around him washed the peace, broken only by the sound of wind, or the occasional groan of a building, as it settled on its foundations. The bright glare of the sun, long since sunk below the horizon, gone and in its place the calming light of the moon.
The place itself changed. In the daylight hours it bustled with people, the throng of life. Noisy children weaved in and out of chattering adults. Shopkeepers touted their wares, each trying to outdo the other in loud baritone voices as they hustled the housewives who flocked around their simple wooden stalls. Men had drinking competitions outside the public house, throwing dice, dealing cards. Dogs raced after the postman, snapping at the poor mans heels as he climbed steps, ducked under bridges and avoided tiny children pedalling around on tricycles.
But at night it was so calm and beautiful. The glaring red of the craggy cliffs deepened into a profound purple, the candle throwing patches of flickering scarlet onto the walls. He loved looking into the endless darkness beyond the plateau, unable to tell the land from the sky, even with the ever present stars. The stars, he had been told, again when he was young, that they were the eyes of his long dead ancestors, watching him from heaven. That he had always to hold himself to the principles and traditions of his people. To make them all proud.
He remembered the day well. It had dawned cool and clear. The sun rising slowly, carefully as if afraid. The stars had warned him. Bitter enemies plotting their attack. Jealous of their position in the cliffs of the canyon.
Hours later they had attacked, poisoned spears and bitter arrows. Biting into flesh they screamed their war cries, the wind howling behind them. Terrifying. The clashes of cymbals, the beating of the war drums. The growl of the beasts as they went for the kill.
He stowed him safely, wrapped in sackcloth. Hidden well in the secret room behind the inn. Nuzzled him gently to say goodbye. Told him to be brave and to not leave until his grandfather said it was safe.
His Son. His pride. His joy. His little boy.
He raced to the cavern, knowing they would attack from behind. Hated leaving his wife without saying goodbye. He ran into the caves, forced them back with his snarls. Fire spells whistling from his paws to burn them, send them retreating to gather more power.
Slashing them with his claws, tasting their blood in his mouth. Spells whizzing past him, whistling in his ears. The crash of the cymbals, the pounding of the drums. The sickening crack of bones breaking, flesh being torn open. Blood flecking into his eyes, he still blindly went on. He could feel the cold steel pressing into his skin, the poison trickling through his bloodstream. Still he fought onwards, through the musty caverns. Slimy water dripping from the stalactites to mingle with the blood. He reached outside. The cold night air. He had fought for hours… unaware.
A dying howl was borne to him on the wind. His wife, the love of his life was dying in a pool of her own blood. Unknown to him, his son watched her from a hiding place. Could see her body spasm in its death throes as more blood pumped from her mouth. He didn't know where his father was, could feel the rage fuelling his tiny body. WHY HAD HE DESERTED THEM!
He stared down the army in front of him. Their spears glinting menacingly. He lunged, attacking them once more rending into their flesh. His teeth sharper than their spears could ever hope to be. Pushed back to the cavern, he tried vainly to keep them from entering. Looking about blindly he saw a way out. Summoning his strength he snapped at them, flung spell after spell at them. Until they were exactly where he wanted them.
Roaring an earth shattering roar, the rocks fell from the cliff tops, killing the tribe and wiping them out. Howling in victory, he clambered on their death pile. Standing proudly on the cliff top, overlooking his kill. He howled again in victory, alerting the canyon. Heard the cheer of his people as they called out his name.
His son didn't hear them, as he mourned over the body of his mother. In the house of his grandfather, the wind howled the cheers away. The tiny cub, crying bitter tears. He hated his dad, for leaving her to die.
His body spasmed, his skin crawling like ants were underneath, burying themselves in the tissue. His limbs rigid, he couldn't move. Coldness started in his paws, biting into him worse than any tick. Panicking he thrashed his head, spears loosening and clattering to the floor. Soon he could no longer move, his body so cold, his limbs so stiff. The crackle in the air like ice beginning to thaw. He watched in hopeless abandon as his hide lost its red sheen, it turned brittle and grey, hardening further until he was cast in stone. As it travelled up his neck, he thought that was it. He would die alone on this cliff top. He would never see his son again.
The stone took over him, froze him in time. He could still think, still feel... but could no longer move or speak.
A few days later, Bugenhagen found him. And with a heavy voice told him of his wife's death and his son's hatred. Full of remorse he begged Bugenhagen to shut him away. To close off the cavern, and never tell his son of his battle… of his victory. Guilt ridden he stayed, alone and forgotten. Counting the years as they went by. Thinking that his son would never forgive him.
Until that day, Bugenhagen brought him. Told him of his victory. His father had saved them all. He had cried to see him, his little Nanaki. Grown older, mature and fighting for the fate of the planet and the whole of mankind.
Through a crack in the cliffs, he could see the whole canyon. Watch their daily life unfold. Could watch over his son, his newly born grandchildren. Watch his race growing stronger with each step those children took.