Birthplace

I can still hear the bear’s warning echo.

“Nobody is welcome to rule inside of your core.

The molten lava will one day erupt into existence, and at first, your flow will kill – not with force, but with heat. A scandalous viper torching whatever is of low spirits, that will be you.

At first, you won’t be able to choose.

As long as you are lava, you will not control your flow – you will glide down the trail that has been set.

When you cool off and harden to rock, wait a while.

Wait until you hear curious steps, wait until they pass through, wait for them to climb down after they have witnessed the birthplace of spirit.

After you have let one tribe cross over, crush your hardened essence into dust, and let the wind do the rest.

It will assemble an image of fur, and spill you in.

Now you truly begin –

Bear’s claws, bear’s paws.
Fur protecting your skin.”