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[i]I have attempted it many times. It is not implausible that I have perfected the technique, insofar as that is possible with my current grasp of horde magic. That technique, be it my own or simply a rediscovery of what others may find intuitive in the past or in the future, is as follows.

On a dry, windless space, dig a small hollow, or erect a circle of rocks. Gather dry grasses and fibres of bark or husk; This shall be tinder. Tie the tinder into a light ball with plenty of air, yet tight enough not to unravel easily. In the hollow, assemble bark and rocks over the tinder such that it is weighed down. Begin pulsing chaotic energy into the center of the mass in the smallest concentration you are able to produce, continuously, such that the repeating explosions do not blast away the assembly, but heat the air within the pit until the tinder ignites spontaneously.

Though I have tried this many times, I do not yet know of any reason why I should light fires, nor benefit I could gain from them. In every experiment that places myself in close contact with flame, I am at risk of painful burning. Evidently, the many functions to which other beings can repurpose fire are not applicable to me.

For this reason, and after some momentary consideration, I elect to flee when the False Angel comes.

I call it this, for its wings are not feathered, and its flesh is not solid, and its clothes gleam like still water in sunlight. Perhaps the angels I know were weak imitations of this entity, and this is the True Angel. I find this thought only slightly more interesting than it is concerning. They may be unrelated.

The False Angel takes sight of me and descends rapidly. I am fast, but it is faster. With a sweep of its hands (talons? gauntlets?) a wave of white passes through the forest canopy, leaving brilliant flame in its wake; Had I been on flat ground, it seems likely that I would have been incinerated. At this point my ability to analyse the situation collapsed.

We fought. Fear welled up and I wanted nothing more than to kill this creature, that I might be safe. The trees exploded around me and their splinters burned in the starlight flames. My magic collided with the thing and knocked it aside, but it was resilient. Together we felled pines and started a wildfire. Many times I was struck glancing blows, and shed parts of myself as I burned.

Then came an explosion which was not mine, followed by a powerful sound that quaked the forest. I heard something fall, and the blazing winds did not come again. As I fled, I beheld for only the smallest moment another entity in the air, a shimmering spidery creature with many arms, leaving a thin trail of cloud as it soared without wings. And I knew that it was God.

I escaped that place.

My oldest instincts told me not to consume the animals I found, that the balance of the ecosystem may not be destroyed. These instincts I have long since grown strong enough to consciously ignore, and I left them hairless and cold as I began to recover, replenishing my mass with quality fibres. For a while I joined a clowder of other fiberlings, and shared in their own spoils. I saw hunters, also, of the human type.

It has been some time since then, and I stand as tall now as I was when the False Angel came. I can weave myself into the height and shape I prefer, with ears four and clawed digits, on which I wear my ring.

When the humans of these lands see me, I suppose that their initial feelings are of fear, or an equivalent on their emotional spectrum. There could be many reasons for this. They may be able to perceive my magic before it is used, or they may associate me with fiberlings, or my shape and colour is simply foreign enough to warrant caution, or their fear is simply instinctive phobia. I have yet to find out. In any case, I have experimented with the course their fear takes.

In most cases, the humans respond quickly when I make my presence known. They light torches, or swing cutting tools. Often both. Sometimes I am pursued, and the experiment no longer appears fruitful, though I continue for some time anyway. In other circumstances, the humans gradually acclimatise to me- Or simply lose the motivation to give chase.

I have learned several things.

This area is known as Mesathalassa. It is a large region (I have no point of reference to determine how large), the north of which I have been skirting for some time. These hunters wander mostly from a settlement called Susa, pressing far to the north and south and indeed all directions, if their words and my translations are accurate. I am introduced to cartography. Visual representations of the terrain around me for miles, used to plan journeys.

For the first time I am presented with something resembling true choice in my own wanderings. 

I have no basis for assuming this information is accurate; The hunters could be feeding me an elaborate lie to keep me away from places of value. Perhaps they are trying to deter me from leaving them, for I am faster and cleverer than any hound, and far better at killing what they track. Even so, I may now have the chance to decide on a destination, rather than move blindly, making my decisions based only on what I can see.

Is it better to travel that way? I will find out.

Tonight I will leave these folk. I intend to travel west, to the shore of the sea. I remember, distantly, what it may be like, for I was created in the maw of an island deity. Soon I will see that watery expanse again. Perhaps it has changed.

I know I have.[/i]