Long ago, when the Earth was still soft and the sky sat close to the ground, the People had no fire. The nights were cold, the food was raw, and the elders whispered stories by starlight, hoping for warmth that never came.
One day, the Great Hawk descended from the mountains, his wings a tapestry of earth, fire, and sky. He had seen the Sun’s sacred flame and vowed to bring a piece of it back for the People.
He soared higher than any bird had dared—past the storm clouds, through the breath of the stars—until he reached the Sun.
From its burning heart, he stole a single ember and tucked it beneath his feathers.
The fire burned his wings and scarred his chest, but he did not falter.
He returned to the People, dropping the ember into a hollowed-out stone. From it, they lit their first fire.
To this day, the People honor Hawk with painted feathers and sacred dances. They say if you see a hawk in flight, remember: courage is not the absence of pain—it is the will to endure for the sake of others.
