Link to the associated image: Úir, The Great

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Not all creatures are born equal.

Úir made this clear when she made the world; from the blood of her womb and the skin of her hide and the hair from her mane. She made it so trees could not up their roots to escape a fire, she made it so the rabbit was not smart enough to outthink the fox, she made it so the wolf was always hungry for meat so it drove them mad with bloodlust. She made it so the Fawns, her greatest creation, were given all the tools to use the world as they saw fit. However, not all the Fawns accepted their gift as they should, and instead turned their backs on Úir, forgetting her divine grace and the gifts she bestowed upon them, so they became soft, weak, half-creatures.

Now, Úir is as kind as she is cruel, as is the way of things, and did not punish these creatures directly for their insolence, for she was the Mother of the Wood, and who was she to deal with such petty creatures. We still remember her and the wondrous gifts, the wondrous purpose she bestowed upon us and upon the world. She may not have made all creatures equal, though she gave us all equal choice in our fate - we either choose it, or let others choose it for us.

Some time after she made the world, Úir did turn her attention to the dark wood hidden deep in the wide chasm between the curved spine of earth itself, where she fashioned herself a body dark as night, not as a wolf or a bear, but the mightiest of creatures - a fawnling. Her appearance was lithe and tall and swift, but sickly looking and bony. Her eyes were unseeing, but perceived everything. These features belied her true strength though, for she was the creator of the world, the mother of all things, a magicer, a shapeshifter. She came to earth to amuse herself, and to teach her children her ways so they might seize their fate by the throat, like the mighty wolf itself.

She did not bestow these gifts on just any fawnling, only those who had not forgotten her teachings and her influence were considered to be in her divine presence. She was a magic woman, a witch as some would call her, and she told her followers that other fawnings had stolen themselves lesser magics, however she knew the secrets to life and death itself, and she would teach them well for their loyalty. Úir taught them how to pull at the strings of life, call upon ghosts and spirits and souls, and even upon death itself. These, she said, are the things I made the world with, and to you my children, I pass my secret. For none so unworthy as the other creatures and fawnlings too shall ever hold this power, but those who remember me and the way of the world, as it should be.

The black doe wandered the dark wood for many years, neither here nor there, as she watched over her kingdoms from the earth itself. Sometimes she would fashion herself in a pelt of wolfskin and wander the mountains, and other times she would be a raven, dark as night as she flew far beyond the wood to caaark in mockery at the life her other creations had chosen for themselves. She stopped coming to the dark wood, as her body finally began to grow weary until it turned to dust and became the earth from which she had lovingly crafted the ungrateful world. Her children in the dark wood mourned the loss of her council, but still celebrated at her  presence among them, and never would forget their true mother, or her teachings. They vowed that in her honor, they would return the land to Her divine plan, and scourge its surface from all those who claim to be above her teachings.