It was during the Solstice that things changed, that much Paobu knew. It was the longest night, and the air was filled with noise. Blaze Bears from all over, those who could make it, were Home. Home, in what humans called the Ash Forest. Paws slammed into hollow tree trunks, letting out a raucous beat. Enormous bonfires burned, fueled by their Qi. Blaze Bears stood on their hind legs and bounced up and down in a slow, shuffling dance; one arm up in the air and forward, the other behind and pointed to the ground. They shimmied and shook, and their arms moved like a growing flame. Some of his kin, however, said it looked more like a growing tree than a growing fire. Trees were important, they argued. Every Blaze Bear knew that living in an ashen desolate waste was no good. You needed trees to scratch your back against, fallen trees to sleep under, trees for food to eat, so they could have meat, and trees for bears to eat from. Everyone liked eating nuts. Paobu thought this did have some logic… but they only danced on the darkest night, so fire was obviously more right. Meat and berries and seeds were thrown into the flames, charring to ash as a sacrifice to Home—and to the great fire that all the old ones and strange ones said had birthed them; they had come out of the flames, and made Home from the Ashes. The Darkest Night was always a good time for Paobu. With so many of them gathered, no scary humans—or scary chickens—would dare come into the forest. With their numbers, Paobu could relax, sit back, eat some tasty honey, and generally have a good time. He shared (...)