An Apology to the Reader
When we sent our missionary, laden with food and gifts, on a momentous journey to discover new ways of raising sheep, we hoped that we would compile their findings into a document both helpful & hopeful for any being across the vast flatness of our world who, like us, takes joy in the labor involved in the raising of sheep, preparation of wool, and cooking of mutton.What we got instead was a plagiarized & bowdlerized document, mostly taken from the poet Erlo, who himself was a collector of tales from thieves, outcasts, bards, and other untrustworthy types.It is with great shame that we release these notes to the sheep-raising public, only because we made an oath. One hopes that enterprising shepherds might find, with devoted digging, some useful sheep-raising facts herein. However, it is our firm belief that everything presented here is a fabrication.Our missionary has been branded a traitor and heretic, and their name has been removed from all records; they have been sent forth to survive on what fodder they can find.In our failure,
The High Council of the Church of the Sheep God

A Plea from the Author
Ere, I was wont to think in bursting poems.
Regarding everything I write: it’s true.
Lo, though I may be punished for my tomes,
Often the writing’s harder to subdue.
— __________, missionary of the Sheep GodThe heretical missionary’s name has been stricken from this work by the order of the Sheep God’s Grand Priest.

ANGEL
A sort of spirit or small god that lives inside us and is also a part of us, like the stomach or like spit. There is much debate about its purpose.Some believe that the angel helps us discern what is best for ourselves and our people. This is alternately called moral behavior and selfishness. Some angels believe one should do right no matter who is watching, and failing to do so is called sin. Other angels only encourage righteous behavior in the eyes of the other, and the opposite of that is known as dishonor.Others believe that angels come in many types: good, bad, childish and petulant, old and reserved. Some people are born without an angel or have theirs driven from them by a curse.What is agreed upon across the world is that our urges and inner voices come from our angel, and when we die, the angel dresses up in whatever is left of us and goes to the underworld or haunts the place we perished.

BRONZE
The sheep of metals. See Sheep.

CENTAUR
See Horse.

DRAGON
Try to draw a circle. It is imperfect, as it should be. Were it to be perfectly round, screaming unholiness would bubble up from it, terrifying all who beheld your disturbing art. That awful immaculation is the Dragon of Time.The Dragon of Time was a perfect loop, an endlessly repeating reptilian loop. It was self-contained unto protection. But it fell in love with another infinity, an endless sheet of parchment. Unable to consummate its love, the Dragon of Time went mad trying to force itself into a different shape. Time became a bleeding, crumbling line, susceptible to forgetful erasure and misremembered editing.The mouth still seeks the tail, and its screams are a woeful demand for control. Domination is its only pursuit, and it demands simple things: ashes to ashes, womb to tomb, motion to stasis. All who push against these demands are the enemies of the Dragon, and it will seek to correct them.

DRAGONLING
The sharp, mineral shrapnel from the Dragon of Time’s explosive dissociation can sometimes lodge in mortal minds. When this happens, a dragonling is birthed in the mortal’s dreams. It feeds on the perception of birth and aging and death, and it crawls forth from the nostril of the sleeper and ages quickly into a bestial adulthood.If the perception of time is pleasant or hopeful, the dragonling becomes a sort of guiding spirit, not dissimilar from an angel. It speaks in time’s secrets, and prayers whisper up to the Dragon of Time as wisps of smoke from the dragonling’s nostrils.If the perception of time is fearful and tragic, the dragonling is a nemesis! It perches on transoms and sings ominous dirges. It eats pets. Woe!If a brave adventurer slays one of the latter dragonlings, tales say they can consume the forked tongues to speak in aging breath, or they can tan its scaled hide into a kind of armor against adulthood. Neither of these are necessarily beneficial.

DRINK
Almost all intelligent beings, from elfs to ants to dolphins, consume fermented beverages that lower inhibitions, make one idiotic, and bring pleasure.There is a people who call themselves the Coconut Clan who tell the following tale:
The coconut god took the form of a monkey and played a great prank on the dragon god of time. The dragon shouted a great roar and drove the monkey in front of it. The monkey and the dragon chased each other about in circles upon circles, and the coconut god’s insides became roiled and ensickened. Finally, the coconut god shouted, “I yield!” and heaved up her insides. What she vomited forth was a child, and it was named Palm Wine.The dragon god of time claimed Palm Wine as its child as well, and said this: “See how I take all things sweet and energetic and turn them sour and gormless.” And this is why alcohol makes time pass strangely.

DUCKS
Most of what I can say of the ducks is in regards to their funerary practice.Scattered through their swamps are large stones pierced with a single hole. Tied to that hole are thick ropes blessed by the fat of the ancestor ducks. These ropes are sunk deep into the bogs, and at the end of each is a bog mummy.At the passing of each season, the ducks haul up their mummified dead to see what blessings they have found in the suffocating darkness below. If they’ve honored the memories of their ancestors, the duck mummies will be holding anaerobic nightfruit. These heady, salty-sweet fruits are always fermented, and a single bite is enough to make one pleasantly drunk.

ELFS
In a chorus of voices spoken from woodknot faces embedded in the tallest tree I’d ever seen, the Shrub Lord of the Deciduous Kingdom (rough translation) told me:“Heretics will say we are a twig people moved by holy word. I will spear those heretics on my branches. Here is our true history: as a seed is eaten by a bird and dropped in faraway fertility, so the first elf was the seed of the last world, eaten by the Dragon of Time when it ended that place. It flew sideways to a new and fertile nothing and laid its droppings there. The first elfs grew in that empty land, and so every place a plant can grow is a place that belongs to us.”Infant elfs come from fruits. Their skin is grass skin and their blood is phloem-pumped amber. When they get too old, they lay down with other elfs. They intertwine and lay down roots, stretching and spiralling up to the sky and down into dirt. Lush, pumping fruits sprout in high branches, growing heavy enough to fall, where they burst into babies.When one of these shrub-lord trees is threatened or angry, its roots rip up from the ground, and it can go rampaging.

FURRED WORM
*Excerpt from an interview with Heshe, the first human to take up with the Worms. *… and another thing you gotta know about the Worms, is that they’re real finicky about manners. Of course you shouldn’t touch their fur without permission, but it’s much deeper than that. A worm in a cape speaks last, it’s rude to ask their opinion too early. A spoon is a good birthday present, but a knife is an invitation to courtship. They aren’t particular about who’s shacking up with who, but another fellow gave his two lovers a dagger each, and when they found out, the only thing left of him was a big boneless knot of flesh.Otherwise, they’re friendly. Never had an empty belly since I joined the cult. You’d think creatures without hands would be dismal at cooking, but I never had such a hearty leek and turtle stew in my life. They expect you to work for your keep, and since I got thumbs, I’ve been really useful in helping with their paperwork, but if you pull your weight, it’s as pleasant as any kingdom above ground. Just watch your step around the mercury.Unrelated, any chance you’ve got a bezoar? I’ve been pissing blood ever since I fell in the Mirror Pool.— contributed by A. A. Voight

GENDER
For each person in the flat expanse of the world, there are at least two beliefs regarding gender and sex. However, all civilized folk at least pay lip service to the following story:While most gods were selfishly sporting and fighting after the universe came to be, the Earth God had created art. Her first art was the art of pottery, and she made eight great pots, each painted in eight mineral colors.Next she created the art of cooking, and in a sacred iron pot, she kept a broth brewing. The other gods’ sporting and fighting left plants growing in footprints and animals springing forth from wounds. Their sporting and fighting also left crushed stalks and broken beasts, and the Earth Goddess collected these. She dropped roots and leaves, skin and bones, into the broth. Every eight days, she poured it into one of her pots. Then a new broth began.The pots of broth were sealed and submerged in the Earth Goddess’s other art, which we call magic (but which is actually something else). After eight full moons passed, the Earth Goddess cracked each pot, and people poured out.This is why we come in eight different shapes called genders (which, unlike most shapes, is a shape on the inside of us). The broths roil in us, salty and fibrous, but some are more hazy, while some have the clarity of golden water. (There is a tongue for every broth.) And the waves of magic (which is actually something else) and the changing light of the moon allow us to grow and change and settle like a tide, taking new shapes and lapping up new broth.There are those who don’t believe this tale. Some demand nine pots and something other than broth in our veins, for the gods could not conceive of a world other than their own. Other nonbelievers are sad little almost-humans who history desires to overlook, only sometimes they gain power and money enough that others begin to believe their sad tales.

GOD
See Runes.

GRANDFATHER FROST
The so-called Grandfather Frost arrives only on the coldest night of the dark season. A towering figure,robed in furs and hidden behind a wooden mask of a bearded face, they ride an elk-drawn sleigh laden with gifts.Are they a spirit, a god, or simply the bearer of the mask? Witnesses disagree, but I know! I have seen those eyes before, heard that voice. I can’t remember who they were before, of course, but that must be part of the magic of the mask… Regardless, heed my warnings! Accept their generosity and do not let your own generosity be lacking, or a curse shall be upon you and yours.Who knows? Perhaps you too will wear the mask one dark season and be forgotten like, like old what’s-their-name. No, no, wait , it’ll come to me…
— submitted by Jason Strong

HAIRYSHANKS
All human places I’ve visited have spoken of smaller populations of nearby folk who are like the humans but dressed in fur. Some clans speak of these hairyshanks as noble ancestors; others call them spirits of the woods; and some believe they are savage scavengers, circling human habitations like vultures around a dying person.Other variables:
— some wear breechclouts or simple decorations while others go about only in fur
— some tower over their human neighbors, some are short and can go about on four legs, and all between
— some speak in their own language and can approximate the words of humans, and some only screech and growl
— some build nests in trees, others dwell in caves
—are they spirits? solid flesh?One point that everyone agrees on is that these hirsute beings love wild nature, which might be the source of their distrust of settled folk. I am told that they all obey the edicts of their faraway king, the great Urang Hutan, who gives orders from the top of the highest tree. However, these orders drop like seeds and are spread like bird fodder, dropping where they will and sprouting strange leaves.

HISTORY
Another kind of angel or spirit that must be grappled with. At times it cannot be touched, and other times, it reaches out and grabs us with eighteen clawed hands, screaming in countless voices.The loudest of these voices are the conquerors, those who oppress via wealth or force of arms, leaving a violent mark on the past that carries into our lives like an infection or scar. Those who study the past listen to these voices and try to discern which lie and which tell truth.But as the wise woman once said, “Contentment is silent.” Those who lived well said little; they do not scream forth from deep time. It is my belief, therefore, that we must scream our contentment in order to let the future know when we have found ways of life that do not leave scars upon time.

HORSE
These animals were permitted only for the gods and their chosen servants. They ate the grass of heaven and could move like lightning. A clan of humans grew angry with the gods, though, and plotted to steal some horses for themselves. They creeped up to heaven on a ladder woven of hair (this was before heaven was sealed), and on seeing the perfect horses masticating upon the perfect grass, they whooped and laughed and jumped up on the animals.The horses went wild, unused to the imperfect rumps that now sat upon them. They whinnied and ran, hooves kicking up the immaculate sod of heaven, and they ran and ran some more, until spit bubbled from their mouths and sweat coated their flanks. Many of them died right then and there.The humans tamed the few horses that lived and rode them home. They hid the horses in a barn made of sod, so when the gods came by and asked if their horses had come through, the humans could say, “Look at our fields. There are no horses there.” So the gods left and the day passed.At night, a powerful weeping came from the barn, and a chorus of pleas: “We are here! There is no fresh fodder! We are in a tight, dark place!” The horses could no longer remain silent. And the gods came down like falling stars and pulled the sod roof off the barn. Their horses huddled there, and the humans came out and professed ignorance.The gods, being fickle and strange, cursed both the humans and the horses. “If you so desire these creatures,” the Wind God said, “let it be that you can never be apart from them.” And the humans and horses were joined into centaurs, which have the top half of a human but with the jaws of a horse, and the bottom half of a horse but with the rumps and feet of a human.Perhaps once a generation, the centaurs birth a true horse, and this fine beast is usually destined to serve a hero. And there are rumors that other people, far away from here, know how to treat a horse, and they are allowed the privilege of keeping whole herds of them. But I’ve never seen this.

HUMANS
As the elfs are plants granted speech and the dwarfs are stones similarly gifted, humans are animals who talk. It is widely agreed that they are descended from wolves, which explains their tendency to group into packs and survive via the violent deaths of others. It also explains their waxing and waning madness tied, like the wolf’s to the moon. There are many stories of wolves finding humans and accepting them into their packs, and most humans have taken wolves into their families, and we call them “dogs.”Many people have stories of how they were created by a god breathing, speaking, or singing life into a twig or a lump of clay, but now that we know that is how elfs and dwarfs were created, we must find another explanation for humans. I was told a story by the Low Mountain People while visiting their city, and I believe it holds the truth:A certain deity fell in love with a wolf when the beast was spotted sleeping and shining in full moonlight. This deity came down from a heaven, woke the wolf, declared love, and gently kissed the beast. The wolf, as its nature decrees, bit the face off the deity and swallowed the delightful meat. The wolf was now the first human.Out of shame, the deity did not return to heaven. The wounded face of this god is always hidden now, and blood still falls from the grievous injury. Where the blood falls, flowers sprout; they smell of decay. Sometimes a werewolf crawls out of the bloom.This story explains why humans act as awfully as they do, for their god will not look at them, and they always yearn for another wet taste of deific flesh.

IRON
The rarest of metals owing to its late (and ongoing) entrance into the world. Rare is the person who finds it, and rarer still they who know how to work it.When the Iron God, favorite child of the Earth God, was killed by the jealous Dirt Deity, the latter removed the Iron God’s heart and threw it away, up into the sky. There it was caught by the Goose, who carried it forward through time while the rest of the gods were sealed in the past. Here is how The Rusted Bible of the jarnalfar puts it:I will teach you of the time
When the Dirt God of fallow soil
Threw off his solid shackles
And usurped the Ironheart
Of deadly heroic metal.Once the earth shook,
And the Ironheart laughed
And played with his sword.Twice the earth shook,
And the Ironheart smiled
As one hundred people fell
Into fissures of fallow soil.Thrice the earth shook
And opened beneath the Ironheart
And kept the air from his lungs
As revenge for ancient times.And the ground lurched once more
And gave up the iron heart,
Throwing it to etheric sky
And the great Goose waiting there.The Goose flew far south
With the heart in hand,
Living blood still falling.
Where wet blood fell fecund,
Inept iron veins took root,
Trying to recall the body.The Goose carries the heart to this day, and it continues to drip blood. The blood falls to earth and becomes veins of iron. Because it is of direct godly issuance, iron is proof against all things: flesh, spirit, magic (and according to some, aging and emotion, for the gods lived forever and felt little when they enacted great violence).Many have asked why the Goose grabbed the heart and why it continues to fly about above the clouds with it. I refuse to pursue these lines of inquiry as I despise geese as truly vile and hateful creatures.

PEOPLE OF THE SHORE
Fine folk who live along a sea. They dress in armor made from large crabs and claim descent from an ancient king who, they claim, invented both fire and the knapping of stone. Their fine ancestors have ascended into the sky and lie there as constellations. They like ducks but despise geese.

POETRY
A great sin that I deeply regret. Thankfully, I was raised up from my fallen state by the Church of the Sheep God. Let me describe my descent so that my gracious readers can avoid my mistakes.First, to know poetry is to know the runes (see Runes), which is to know the names of the many gods who fought and loved and pondered at the start of the world. This is too much for a mortal to know. It makes us look too deeply into things. It causes us to know of birth and death, which causes us to feel hope and despair. Oftentimes, the beauty in our thoughts seems greater than that before our eyes, so we value our thoughts too highly.I am blessed that the Sheep God has taught me to chew calmly on the cud (symbolic) of the real world once more. The brown grasses and thorny branches, though ugly and sharp, sustain me and occupy my time.

RUNES
When the gods hid themselves away (some say in heaven, some say in history, some say in a place far away), they wrote their names and their passions on the most miniscule portions of creation. These are the runes, and by meditating upon them, we can access their power.Some gods scraped their names like children in mud. EARTH is a rune for a goddess worshipped everywhere by many different names. Some claim she is also IRON or SALT, but others believe those are her children. (But some cults insist SALT was born of WATER.)Other gods are longer tales. The storm god of the Mountaintop Folk signs its name HORSE SKY MOVEMENT, and the Mountaintop Folk claim that only they can understand this poem, which they read in heavy air and flashes of lightning.Here is a list of the names of gods I have heard of:— Azharn, whose cloak is bejeweled night; Sammel, crumbling earth and kindness; Gorgik, who breaks chains and razes homes; Pryn, scaled nobility with four unfeathered wings; Coucy, the greatest lover of horses; Curtbride, who is always getting older; Ferro, made all of iron and lacking his worm of a heart; Isabellum, both snow and the fire that keeps one warm; Gautier, whose fur smells of loyalty; Fallow, the abandoned and jealous dirt; Eska, the loving mother and deliverer of death; First Duck, the very first duck; Verral, violent sculptor of the world; Smooth Round, the spinning wheel that eases burdens; Pulk, the drunken one who accepts sacrifices of the self; Ruthen, whose drumbeat is felt in all hearts; Roel, who yearns for the times before
Though the gods can only be reached during Sacred Time, many lesser spirits also dwell in the runes, resting in their curves or racing through their angles. Powerful magicians can coax them forth, and devoted communities build temples that draw spirits like cats to a bowl of milk.

SCALED EMPIRE
Perhaps it will be the death of me, but I consider them to be the absolute acme of foolishness: those who think they know better than the people who have lived on their lands for generations.They ride alpacas (against whom I hold no grudge). They wear leather and bear a seal in the shape of a dragon biting its own tail, which they say allows them to ride where they please.They claim their faraway empire is massive and contains many clans, who are all ruled by three sorcerer kings who commune with the spirits of past rulers.This empire (they say) will be the last to survive before the world ends, so they seek to conquer all in order to save them. Those who bring others into the empire are granted prestige, and the more one brings over, the more prestige they attain.They consider eggs to be the finest delicacy, and all citizens of the empire are guaranteed a ration of eggs: chicken, duck, fish, snake, echidna, and bobcat.

SHEEP
The holy reason for this manuscript. Here is what is known about sheep:
— They are superior to most animals because they provide food, milk, wool, and a ride (if they are big enough).
— They understand human speech but they do not deign to speak it.
— They worship all gods, so through honoring them, we honor all gods too.
— Their mouths are mortars, their teeth are pestles, and their stomachs are ovens, so their wool will take on the properties of what they eat. Pine cones make it warmer, juniper lets air flow through, and duckweed makes it water-resistant.
— Goats are a kind of sheep with particular devotion to the gods of salt and metal.
— Alpacas are a kind of sheep with particular devotion to the gods of sun and sky.
— If one can’t have children, it is often said that one should raise sheep.

SICKNESS
The causes of illness come up as gasses from the underworld, released by earthquakes and volcanoes. This makes the winds sick, and the winds carry it to people and animals. Once inside the flesh, it can be treated by means of the flesh or by means of this spirit. This is the source of the saying, “The leech drinks bad blood, the priestess drinks the demon.”This is the primary reason for the worldwide hatred of demons, but some claim the spread of disease is not purposeful. They will say we deposit our waste into the ground, where it slowly drips into the underworld, perhaps making demons sick. They do the same but in reverse.The worst diseases take on lives of their own. The Nacreous Plague of the last century prowled the land as a white dog carrying a silver sword. The Drying Sickness told of in legend was a tall woman of blue flame wearing a red scarf.

STARS
It has long been proven that the same object, when viewed from different angles, appears differently. This is equally true of stars, which are unreliable candleflames burning in the dark sky.When the gods became trapped in the shattered circle of the dragon of time, some managed to escape, flinging themselves at great speed into the sky. They went so fast that they became fire and broken embers, and they were the first stars.Mortal beings have followed in the footsteps of those self-destroyed (or perhaps transformed gods), climbing up to heaven as they dissolved into light. Many are heroes, and many more are tragic examples.The stars flit and group together based on unknown laws of sympathy. In this way, they create shapes and stories, but these, as I mentioned, are different depending on where they are viewed from. Some examples:
— The Cricket, who sings hopefully into the night and needs nothing but its own hands
— The Gambler, who knows good and bad come in equal amounts and feels responsible for neither
— The Moth, who looks different depending on when you see it and values all forms equally
— The Blood Drinker, who sees some as rich prey that will feed those who need it
— The Ant, who works constantly with others despite a lack of overseers
— The Queen, who feeds its people and selflessly leads the hive
— The Cicada, who knows when to sleep and when to scream
— The General, who must separate itself from others in order to see the best path
— The Statue, who looks on in a singular direction despite the world ending around it

UNDERWORLD
When Moon passed underneath the Earth
For the first time, retreating from the Sun,
She slept there for a bit and then gave Birth
To those parts of her that she wished unseen:Cruelty was the first from lunar womb.
Then followed Obligation-to-the-Law.
The Queen stepped out, all ready to assume
Her crown and title: ruler over Dark.The Moon departed, shorn of unwished traits.
She changed just as she pleased and kindly shone
Upon the first folk, climbing treetop apes.
Her children built their palaces in hell.— from "Unlit Berths" by the contentious poet ErloThe Underworld has as many nations and ecosystems as the mortal world. The inhabitants of the Underworld, often called demons, are feared as creatures of different morals and different abilities, who are said to traffic with the dead and live on a timeline impossible for mortals to understand.To some, though, the Underworld and its strange lords are appealing. Here is the poem “Dispute Between a Thrall and His Earthly Master,” author unknown.The Queen stands before me tonight:
like a moon rippling up from the edge of the world,
like a savior from a cruel, endless warlord’s rule.The Queen reaches out to me tonight:
like a bright-tailed comet eager to land,
like the stomach of a graveyard, burst after a flood.The Queen whispers my name tonight:
like a murdered man’s final murmured prayer,
like the hungry cry of an unseen rutting animal.The Queen cuts a path for me tonight:
like a sweet stream dropping into dark,
like a new homestead for a lifelong thrall.It's unclear whether the aforementioned Queen is a singular being who rules over the entire Underworld or a more general appeal to a great being there. Here are two more tales which mention the supposed Queen in varying degrees.The Tale of the Widow’s Wealth
In the times before, there was a poor widow who had lost her husband to raiding and her children to starvation. Most people in the clan ignored her because she was bad luck, but an evil few demanded work from her and promised payment. The amount they gave was always less than they promised, and often accompanied by a laugh or a kick or a threat.But the widow saved what she could, burying it in an urn not far from her family's corpses. One night, while burying the urn after adding a few coins, she saw a face at the bottom of the hole. Fearing that she'd accidentally dug up one of her children, she began crying. But the face came out of the hole like someone being born from the dirt, and it was the Queen of the Underworld."You have never been beautiful before," said the Queen with her usual lack of intonation, "but the tears make you transcendent. Why do you cry?" And the widow told her of her troubles with her family and with the others in the clan. The Queen said, "There are some among the village whom I detest, who have summoned me without the proper offerings or lived past their allotted time. If you were to work my will upon them, I would give you all the secret gemstones beneath your village."The embers of hate had lain low and unfanned deep in the widow's guts, and the Queen's offer made them flare to life, a burning and dancing despisal. "I will do as you ask," the widow said.First, the summoners. They had been on the verge of adulthood when they chanted the secret nine names of the Queen, found etched on a sickening green stone, and she terrified them when she came. With no gifts to give and no bindings to hold, she left as quickly. There were five of them then, but decades had passed and now there were two. They were old and tottering, and the widow promised them a picnic on the beach, with fresh mussels she had found. For who deserved a picnic more than the widowed and the old, who got so little?It was a windy day, and the widow led the old couple into a cave for shelter. "To have lived here so long and never seen this cave," said one of the summoners."Isn't it magical?" said the widow. When the summoners were seated around the blanket, they asked where the food was. "I have it keeping cool in the water," the widow said, and she left. She was gone for too long, and by the time the summoners roused themselves to go check, the tide was rising, and the cave's entrance was filled with water. They had been brought somewhere without the proper gifts, and they felt the Queen's anger.The one who had lived past their allotted time had done so with potions stolen from a wizard. It was a simple matter for the widow to get a job cleaning the long-living's home, and as she did so, she switched the potions for colored water. That night, without the potions to sustain him, the thief's body crumbled.The next night, the Queen came to the widow as she dug up the urn to put in her payment from the potion thief. "You could well drink the potions yourself," the Queen said, "for soon you'll be able to pay for decadence and joy." So the widow did, and the Queen kissed the back of her hand to show that her job was done. The Queen whistled a high whistle, and the earth heaved up, throwing dirt into the air. It rained down, and so did gemstones, and so did the bones of the widow's husband and children. She sat amongst it all, mud and wealth and death, and she began to weep. "The tears truly bring you the most ineffable beauty," the Queen said, and she left the widow to her reward.How the Sky Got Storms
Back when the gods still had something to prove, the three Sky Brothers came down to the earth to show why they were placed above and home to the Sun. The brothers were called Blue-Skin, Cloud-Hair, and Wind-Arse, and they ate and drank the peoples’ victuals. Their appetites were bottomless.A brilliant warlock thought to reach out to the Queen Under Ground, natural enemy of the Sky Brothers, for help. On hearing of the brothers’ drunken celebrations on the earth, the Queen appeared in a flash of moonlight along with a termite-like drin and a beautiful eshva. “We will deal with these rowdy boys,” she said.The Queen and her allies came to where the brothers caroused, and each chose an enemy to focus on. “I will deal with Wind-Arse,” said the termite-headed drin, whose name was Frazz, “because he has a well-known predilection for the insectile.” Wind-Arse immediately threw his arms around Frazz, and lips touched mandibles. Wind-Arse said, “Your kisses are particularly saw-toothed,” and as he enjoyed the bite, he didn’t notice when the drin’s poison entered his system.“I will joyfully greet Cloud-Hair,” said the eshva, called Myrrh, “because we share an appreciation for fine oils made for styling.” They circled each other like friendly dogs, circling and sniffing with toothy smiles. Soon their fingers were wiggling through each other’s hair like silkworms in their cocoons. Cloud-Hair did not feel the heat of the small flame growing on Myrrh’s finger, perhaps because he was already otherwise enflamed.The Queen, seeing that her servants were in place, walked boldly to the oldest brother, Blue-Skin, whose flesh shimmered like de-oxygenated blood, azure and clear. The Queen crushed a heavy stone in her hand, for bits of the earth were never far from her, and blew the dust at the brother, covering his color in dead gray.Blue-Skin stood in anger, and his speed knocked over Cloud-Hair, whose beautiful main went up in crackling fire. Wind-Arse all fell over, sickly and surprised, and a wet and thunderous storm emerged from him. The brothers fell to violence, each blaming the other. The mortal building they were in could not contain their anger, so they flew into the sky to fight in full.The mortals and demons watched as the skies turned gray, flashed with fire, and were filled with an ill wind. This is how the sky learned to storm.