lit.

 “If you really mean to make a fire, your hair needs tying back. You’ll be crouched, tending to the most fragile of embers for a long while and you can’t let those flyaways become a distraction.”

This is what she says to people who come to her thinking it might be worth learning The Light. This is also the point where a good portion of the supplicants toss their hair and turn back. 

Good. 

Next,

“How long can you hold your breath? There will be days when the world is unyielding and sodden, and you’ll be blowing into smoke, with nothing but faith that those grey little ashes still hold enough heat to eventually light red.”

Another few exchange glances with each other, shrug, and turn.

Good. 

Then,

“You don’t get to choose the wood, you know. The thinnest of twigs will go up quickly in the flames and most novices get too caught up in the brilliance of the light to notice how little is left. The thickest of logs might seem like the most enduring, but they can be too dense to dry and leave you with only the idea of a fire to be.” 

Some, especially the young ones, had been carefully gathering the choicest wood (or, more accurately, what they had, up until this moment, assumed to be the choicest wood) for months. They had heaved their proud bundles to the top of the cliff. 

“Look, ok, we can light it all on fire, all I’m saying is it’s not, like, the most wondrous feat,” she adds quickly, as the smallest starts to tear up a bit. She doesn’t like chasing off the most earnest. Letting up on the crooked old crone posture a bit, she surveys those remaining. 

Fine, begin.

“Alright - welcome, welcome, you’ve all made the final cut, congratulations.”

Some excitement, she gives them a moment, then motions for them to sit down around the edge of the cave. It’s crowded - is she getting too loose on the filters? Last time maybe there were four or five little tests, but she can’t remember. Too late. It will have to work another way.

“First of all, I hope you won’t take it too hard that I speak ill of your parents. But I do find myself repeating this whole deal with every damn generation and it makes me wonder whether you all really mean to make it as a people.” 

Some nervous glances. 

“Not to make too much of an example of you, but Tim, my man, you just brought this whole grubby fistful of leaves to my fire cave. Do you think you make a fire out of leaves? You know what your mom brought, twenty-whatever years ago? Also leaves. How do you guys come up with this shit? Have you seen a single one of the fires I start for you guys down there?”

Alright, let up.

“Ok, Tim, it’s fine - I promise you we’ll light these dirty little leaves on fire, it’s just that they’ll last about five seconds and I know you’re gonna cry about that, so I want us all to be prepared.” 

Swing it back.

“So. We’re all here to make a fire.”