text: Have you ever seen a constellation born? In my youth, it was told that they were created when the Old Gods died, their image immortalized in the night sky. Though now we grieve for the Old Gods, we once hunted them. In the days of my childhood, during the dawn of magic, it seemed as though many constellations appeared above us in the black dome of night. The forest of the titanwoods were different then. The colossal trees of lore stood still in vast numbers, truly ancient beings from the Age of the Moon. In my tribe, we found little purpose in planting crops nor herding beasts. The titanwood forest by which we lived was generous. The lumber of the mighty trees built our homes, the hides and meats of the beasts fed and clothed us in abundance. My tribe raised many a master woodcarver, and traders from afar coveted the crafts carved from the ivory white lumber of the titanwood. My birthright was to string the bow and to fletch the arrow. In a family of marksmen, my arrow flew the truest. I was a young man when forest began to grow thin. The titanwood had a most unusual quality: When bathed in fire, the white flesh of the tree turned the color of gold. The Basilius of Eidon ordered a palace built of the golden wood. Soon followed the homes of nobles and scribes, and soon the fate of the titanwood was sealed by fire. The generous fruits of this ancient forest brought hunters and craftsmen from afar, and slowly they stripped it of its treasures. Great fires swallowed groves, herds of beasts dwindled and hunts yielded little. Our eyes turned to the most coveted prize of the forest, the prize that fetched a king's fortune: The pelt of a god. I had never seen the Old Gods, I had merely heard tales. Ever since magic fell into the hands of men, the Old Gods had grown weak, and had little power left to spare. As the magic of men grew, the Old Gods faded into the air; now unseen, invisible, unheard, even undetected under the noses of hounds. They could lurk unknown for decades, keeping a silent watchful eye on the most sacred forest. Even as the power of the Old Gods dwindled, they were capable of great feats. In a final act of devotion, they could muster all their waning strength to restore their former glory, and bring great rains, move mountains, summon thundering herds of beasts, and send dying lands into vibrant green from horizon to horizon. They held the ancient forest in a mysterious, beautiful, and ever-changing balance. There was a cost to their vast power: Upon the expenditure of their great magic, the cloak that hid them from our eyes fell, revealing their form as a beast with a most brilliant coat. It was told that they appeared as living embodiments of the night sky, with pelts as black as the void of night, twinkling with stars and auroras, eyes like suns and moons. This was their sacrifice to protect their realm... doomed eternally to the hunt, every Royal ready with polished coins for the hunter who could bring forth their celestial hides. Desiring a fine trophy, the prince of Eidon put out a bounty on a noble bird said to have sprouted mighty trees that erupted from the ground in mere moments. Imagine such a sight! It was the season of the Silver Bridge when we embarked in pursuit of the great egret god. We treaded amongst the young hemlock forest where the egret’s magic had manifest. After three days of fruitless hunt, with not even a trace of scent for our hounds to track, we set up camp. It was a purple dusk when we saw it, the sign of a god’s death, a pillar of light rising from the forest into the night sky. The lonely pale light brought a mournful, haunting silence to the forest. Our huntsmaster rose and heaved a heavy sigh, and said solemnly, “We have missed our mark.” And there, above the light projecting upwards into the black dome of night, it seemed as though new stars flickered faintly in the sky. A new constellation born; an egret. The tale of our target’s fall was written in stars. The morn after our target’s demise was bright and clear, yet a sadness hung heavy in the forest air, as if one could almost smell it. I awoke in our camp and travelled down to the stream to fetch water. A strange silence fell upon the forest, as if all that lived here stopped to marvel at some beauty. As I filled my pouch, I saw it... across the stream in a clearing of felled trees, unaware of my presence, a god materialized before my eyes. Out of thin air she appeared; a small fox, with a coat of unmistakably pure black and twinkling stars. Just as the hanging lights in the night sky, nebulous swirls of many colors danced about her like the brushwork of a masterful painter. She was the very image of a pristine night sky, unobscured by clouds. In all my lifes’ hunts, I had never been prepared to stumble upon such magnificence. She was carrying in her mouth something small, and she trotted to the bed of the stream. She dug a hole, and laid the piece in it - it was what appeared to be a seed pod or nut. A gasp must have escaped my lips, for her ears perked up, and striking eyes met with mine. My heart fluttered. I can not imagine any man ever having borne witness to such beauty before. I know not what she thought in those moments she gazed at me, but she must have known that I knew her burden. Her enormous power was spent... her sacrifice was made. I did not draw my bow. No thoughts crossed my mind of the fortune her pelt would fetch. Instead I sat and marveled at the sight I had beheld. She gazed at me unblinking, unmoving, until the silence was broken by the howls of the hounds. Quickly she buried her small gift, and off she bounded into the wood. The echoes of the hounds and hunters in pursuit rang like mournful bells, disappearing into silence as they gave chase. The poor beast, doomed for the rest of her days to the hunt. It pains me so to imagine her fleeing without pause until succumbing to exhaustion. Such sacrifice for a mere tree nut. Why? I waited at the site the seed was planted, for I had to see what would sprout from a god’s sacrifice. I pitched a tent and waited for days before a fresh green sprout sprung from the soil, radiating life. It captivated me. I continued to watch, and the days became months. The tent became a hut, and the months became years, and I beheld a beautiful sapling growing before my eyes. I chased away the deer who would eat her leaves, and plucked the pests who would bore into her bark. Around me, the landscape shifted and changed as the tree grew. Her roots ran deep and far throughout the forest, channels of water and life. She grew vast and powerful unlike any titanwood before; a guardian of all that lived here. The glorious tree had embraced me, and in harmony we coexisted. I saw the fox in the sky, and it was clear what fate had befallen her. I heard from travelers that her pelt hung in the hall of the Basillius, and had long since faded to a drab, weathered grey. I could not have know what the Old Gods were giving me when I beheld her sacrifice. I had forsaken them, and yet in that sprout, they gave me a gift no other man will ever come to know. So many years ago that was. I have held the honor of being her protector for centuries now. Life around me rises and falls like the tide, children leave legacy upon legacy, and I fail to recall the names of wives long past. I have been many different men. The Old Gods no longer grace this realm, and the magic of man breeds turmoil. This is my cause: Guardian of the last mark of divinity on this realm. *Thank you for reading, this is an excerpt from a novel I've had in mind.