CHAPTER 9-The Fiery Bird of Yore

In the darkness of the den, I could see Snowpaw's amber eyes gleam at me. It was nighttime, and somewhere far away, an owl hooted. The crickets chirped their neverending song in the clear evening air.

He whispered, "Can you tell me a story?"

I shrugged. "Eh…I'm really not the best storyteller."

"Please?" He flattened his ears and made puppy dog eyes at me. I shrugged again. "Alright then…let me think of one."

I searched my memories for all the stories that I've ever heard of.

"Well," I mewed. "What I'm about to tell isn't exactly a story…is that still okay?"

His ears perked up with excitement. "Oh course!"

I continued, "Once, long ago, there lived a marvelous bird called a phoenix. It burned brighter than any star, brighter even than the sun. It had wings made of fire, and its claws and beak were made out of steel that was shaped into perfection by a blacksmith's hammer. When it screeched, it sounded like thunder, and it shook the skies like an earthquake. It stood taller than any mountain, and its feathers gleamed and crackled like flame. It shone blue and orange, red and yellow, like the heart of a fireplace."

Snowpaw listened with wide eyes.

I continued, "But the most extraordinary of a phoenix, is its ability to live for all eternity. It builds a nest of twigs and lights it on fire with its wings, and then lets itself burn into ashes. But the phoenix never dies. Instead, it is born again from the ashes, with its feathers as bright as ever, and rises again to fly a new day."

Snowpaw breathed, "Wow. Have you ever seen one?"

I smiled. "Of course not. They're not real."

Amberpaw and Lilypaw scooted closer to us. Their ears perked forward. Amberpaw whispered, "Tell us more, Ashley!" I didn't realize that they were listening as well.

I felt a bit shy from the attention I was getting, and then mewed, "There's another creature called a griffon…"

I talked the night away. I chattered about Pegasi, unicorns, fairies and elves, gremlins and harlequins. I sang about fairytales and lands were knights and kings clashed in castles. My voice was a storybook, and the apprentices were my audience. I took them on a journey up to the clouds, where the animals talked and the giants shook the hills. There was a story about a beanstalk, another one about a poisoned apple, and yet another one with a golden bird.

"…a dragon is the most magnificent of them all. Some of them breathe fire, others can fly, and others are longer than the whole length of the lake. And some of them bring good luck and fortune. They can conjure up storms, make rain fall, and lower the sun. They tower upwards like mountains and their scales gleam like glass in the sun, coloring the valleys with silvers and golds."

Dewpaw scoffed. "They're not real."

I ignored him. "And when they fly, their wings unfurl and blossom upwards like huge billows of colorful clouds, with green and orange, white and purple. The dragons can dance, and they sing sometimes with a heavenly voice."

Dewpaw muttered something under his breath and looked away.

Lilypaw yawned. Seedpaw was already beginning to fall asleep. I looked out the den, and realized that the moon was almost in the middle of the sky. Had I been talking for that long?

Snowpaw snuggled next to me. He closed his eyes and whispered, "My favorite was the phoenix. Imagine, living forever! And the griffin…"

I stared up at the dark ceiling as I listened to his breathing. The phoenix…

It never died. Instead, it stoked itself a fire and jumped in, and then rose from the ashes to start a new life. It lived for a century, more than a century, more than a millennium. Did a phoenix get lonely, I wondered? When all of the other creatures died of old age and it was the only one left, did it feel desolate sometimes?

I felt the smooth roughness of the obsidian underneath my mossy nest. I had tucked it into the moss and hidden it from the other cats. A single beam of moonlight shone from the night and cast its glow on the black stone, making it gleam like a single star.

And what the weasel had said. I thought about her for a long time before I finally went to sleep. The fiery image of a bird, made out of flames, burned itself deeply into my mind.