Tiny bodies huddled tight together around the fire; the night was cool, yes, but they'd furs to keep them warm, buckskins cozy over their shoulders neatly tucked into place by loving Ammas and Immis. No, the children pressed close to the flames for the man sitting behind them, too big ears framing too bright of eyes that stared in excitement. Haggard cheeks worn like stone by wind and water, beetle dark eyes peering out from under silvering hair, half-faded tattoos streaking skin like paint across cave walls. Yet he sat on his stool, sturdy as rock, as he looked over the crowd of eager young faces.   Too eager. They were used to gathering for Shúndari's stories of grand adventures, of spirits that danced in colors beyond comprehension and hunters who felled evil beasts. They did not know today was not a day for gentle stories, but memories and warnings. They would learn.   "In the days Before-- when all we knew was the Great Spirit that unites the world, not its many younger faces-- the Hakkai did not stand alone. Our woods were merely a stretch amongst a vast ocean of bark and leaf."   A wrinkled hand reached out, hovering over the flame and it slowly warped and twisted-- the three foot long run of fire bent to his whim without complaint, and it rippled into an inferno of flickering trees, holding the shape of the endless forest.   "The Woods were all the Woods, for no one struck down a tree without replacing, no one took from the Earth without giving in return. We stood across the land, across the seas, in contact with our sister tribes-- from the Vukrr to the Sussuru."   His flames warped again with hardly a shift of a finger, flat figures stepping from the trees; some shimmered in greys and golds and greens and reds amongst the flame, yet all linked hands amongst the trees. "But good times are lost to darkness when not standing ready-- and this era of peace was lost to a most terrible shade of green."   A ripple passed through the flames as all the embers seemed to hiss a toxic green smoke, the flickering images of trees turning a sickly green-- before starting to evaporate into smoke. "They arrived in our lands, and we thought them lost, in need of direction. Well, lost they were... but they did not wish to find a way home. They sought to make a new home out of ours."   A flash of red snapped through the flames as a figure, made of naught but that venomous green smoke wielded a weapon, slashing through a figure of gold... and they flickered out. The children's slowly sinking excitement sharply turned to softly uttered sounds of distress, whispers to one another that quieted as Shúndari continued.   "We were not a people of weapons, beyond the hunt for our food. Some raised their sickles and bows regardless, refusing to fall silently. And so fall with thunderous cries to the heavens and our Great Spirit, they did instead."   More and more of the smokey green figures appeared on his ember stage, fiery Húmari fleeing, breaking their grip on one another-- the smoke simply tore through them regardless, the remaining flame folk ducking into the treeline.   "When fighting failed us, we hid. Abandoned homes in their path and hid amongst brush and bush. And it was then the Húmari people became game to the pui-aipi invaders, as if deer. We learned to walk low as the fox and tread soft as the rabbit. But the pui-aipi learned, too. And they are a clever hunter, indeed."   Needle-thin flashes of green smoke flickered through the flames, and with each one, a huddled figure disappeared. The children, officially teary-eyed and clinging to one another, murmured in fear, voices low in their distress as tiny hands covered tiny eyes.   "Hope was thin as the trees were growing. Our spirits had fled our falling Woods, or had fallen with it. Yet hope remained, as the pui'aipi brought one good thing with them... the name of a grander Earth spirit than any we had known. They called her 'Wildaven.' Our prayers soon reached her, and we knew we rested safe under the hand of our Tree Mother, Bii Sawavi."   Where flaming trees had fallen to the wayside, they pool and reform into something new: a slowly rising figure of curled vines and verdant moss, the deep, rich green of a feminine form that towered over the trees and even Shúndari where he sat sharply opposed to the neon of the green smoke.   "Bii Sawavi heard our pleas and answered, drawing us beneath the cover of her boughs." The godly figure of flames' arms reach out, darkening the trees beneath them, the green smoke flickering and fleeing the creeping dark as the trees grew taller, thicker under the shade, the fiery Húmari gathering in its center-- though only the green-toned ones. "Bii Sawavi, that day, formed the Hakkai, Our Woods, that we may never be threatened by invaders again. Since its formation, we have never seen incursion nor foreigner."   Shúndari's face falls, a mask cracked in sorrow as the flames shift to his hand again. The grey, the gold, the red Húmari that stand outside the realm of the towering goddess have no trees to hide in– only creeping green smoke around them, coiled like snakes.    "The Sussuru, the Pohawten, our sisters beyond were past her reach when she cast her veil over us. We mourn for those who did not join us, who had not this guardian and blessing. I wish I could tell you, young ones, that our kin beyond the Hakkai found their own blessings. But I cannot even tell you that they died. For just as we have not seen strangers, neither do our kinsmen reach us within the Hakkai."   His hand closes to a fist, and all but the forest and the goddess flicker out in an instant-- no more smoke, no more other tribes. Only simmering embers remain. "Today, we remember the losses of the past. We remember all who died in the name of the Old Spirits... and our kindred who likely died with no spirits to turn to. We rejoice in the name of Bii Sawavi, whose veil has shrouded us from famine and fight for centuries. And we remember all there is to lose."   The fire goes dead suddenly, all light in the hut evaporating. Some children squeal or scream in fright, clinging to siblings or peers as only Shúndari's night-bright eyes shine back at them. "We remember what monsters lurk beyond our bark barriers. We remember the metal face of beasts who walk like men. We remember what awaits us, beyond the veil." The flame ignites like a powder keg, exploding upwards in a roaring plume as high shrieks split the night: and an emblem of a wreath burns midair in poisonous lime hue. "Remember, children of the Hakkai, as I knew when I saw this flag before the blessing of the goddess, hardly older than all of you. See it and know it means doom."   His eyes flicker about the room, from shaking child to trembling faces, lingering for a moment on each; a pause, as he meets wide, green eyes, lightened by the flame. "Remember well that if we see this flag again... it means spirits and gods have abandoned our people once more. And the Earth's children shall not be saved from their destruction again."   Green eyes looked sharply down; a tiny girl, hardly ten years of age, clung to her arm like a lifeline, giving a whimper. The girl of green eyes hummed softly, running a hand through the tiny girl’s hair. “It’s okay, Wren. No monsters will reach us here.”     Decades and centuries pass; the Hakkai falls to illness and a people are left dead. And eyes once green now are split with grey, no sister to cling to her arm anymore – staring upon the sigil of a devil, if she'd ever thought them real.

Your wish is granted! Your eyes now hurt all the time, because you have pinkeye forever. I wish I had the ability to change shape at will.