The Frolic Of The Flames





For many and many a moon the people of the village lived at the foot of

the great fire-mountain. On summer evenings, the children watched the

light, and when a child asked, "Father, what makes it?" the father said,

"That is the home of the Great Spirit of Fire, who is our good friend."

Then all in the little village went to sleep and lay safely on their

beds till the coming of the morning.



But one night when all the people in the village were asleep, the flames

in the mountain had a great frolic. They danced upon the sea of fire as

warriors dance the war-dance. They seized great rocks and threw them at

the sky. The smoke above them hid the stars; the mountain throbbed and

trembled. Higher and still higher sprang the dancing flames. At last,

they leaped clear above the highest point of the mountain and started

down it in a river of red fire. Then the gentle Spirit of Fire called,

"Come back, my flames, come back again! The people in the village will

not know that you are in a frolic, and they will be afraid."



The flames did not heed her words, and the river of fire ran on and on,

straight down the mountain. The flowers in its pathway perished. It

leaped upon great trees and bore them to the earth. It drove the birds

from their nests, and they fluttered about in the thick smoke. It hunted

the wild creatures of the forest from the thickets where they hid, and

they fled before it in terror.



At last, one of the warriors in the village awoke. The thick smoke was

in his nostrils. In his ears was the war-cry of the flames. He sprang to

the door of his lodge and saw the fiery river leaping down the mountain.

"My people, my people," he cried, "the flames are upon us!" With cries

of fear the people in the village fled far away into the forest, and the

flames feasted upon the homes they loved.



The two hunters went to look upon the mountain, and when they came back,

they said sadly, "There are no flowers on the mountain. Not a bird-song

did we hear. Not a living creature did we see. It is all dark and

gloomy. We know the fire is there, for the blue smoke still floats up to

the sky, but the mountain will never again be our friend."





The Frog Princess - A Russian Story The Frost-king Or The Power Of Love facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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