Death of a people, birth of a world.

Imagine a world made entirely out of desert. The sun rests above in the light side, burning the land, creating sand so hard it could almost be glass. There is no water, not even a drop, nor is there shade or wind. Everything is still, untouched and silent. If you were to step across the dark line that lies on the planet, into the light of the never ending day without Lothierien on, you would die very quickly.

The dark side is just as bad, just as dangerous and just as much a desert. There is water here, frozen forever on the ground, frozen so deeply, so hardened that steal will not break it. It is almost as cold as the dark of space itself, for sunlight never touches this land. And anyone who viewed this land would be very amazed to see the buildings on the dark side. They are about seven feet high, made of water frozen into shape. Blankets made of..... some strange cloths that almost disappears if looked at the right way cover the doorway.

And here are the only creatures to live in this baren land. They call themselves the Huin, which means the people, and theres is a hard life. Every day they must go down, down, down deep into the center of their planet till they are near the warm center. There the great fires roar, red and fierce and throw red shadows about the walls. The heat that rages past is almost unbarable, even for a while, but their very lives rely on these fires.

They keep the deep rivers that flows in their great circle from freezing, they create the deep mists that create the deeps rains, and most important of all, they make sure the deep grains grow. The deep grains are the only foods that survive on this planet. They are a strange greenish color, with strange orange sacks at odd angles around the stem. The orange sacks contain florecent yellow bulbs that can be taken, and after much work made into a kind of meal.

It tastes, to those not used to it, fowl and bitter. For the first few years a child is fed this meal it stings the throat, sometimes making the child cough but after two years all symptoms go away.And this is life, and this is normal and as things should be.

But today, when the Huin made the long treck down the crooked tunnel all was not right, for the tunnel, which should have grown bright and hot, remained dark and oh................. ever so very cold.The Huin looked around at each other. They felt the walls, which were marked by cuts in the stone, confirming they were in fact in the right spot. They were, but the great fires that had burned all their and those before thems lives had finaly and solumly gone compleatly dead.

It was a solum, weary walk back. Without light there would be no deep grain meal, the water supply would run quickly out, there would be no warmth and soon, very soon, there would be no air.For the Huin, life would soon be over. There was nothing the small, monkey like people could do to avert the end. When they got back to their colony tears were shed, screams range out in bitter anguish and grim faced men held their wives and children.

And there they died, in their homes of ice. They died of cold, which was mercy in a way. They died in each others arms, and it may be hoped they died happy, as those who freeze are said to do.

Around them and their homes the world began to shake. Years and years went by and slowly, ever so slowly, light crept over the darkness of the world. Far on the light side darkness crept over the poor, baked land. The glass baked sand cooled, shatering and breaking on its way, becoming sand again. On the dark side the waters felt the sun, and waves of steam burst from the ice, forming a layer of clouds against the sky.

Slowly the clouds built up, and turned dark and rained upon the land, but not all the waters disapeared. Some stayed in the sky and blocked off the suns harsh rays. Those that did fall to earth collected, forming pools, then lakes and streams till finally oceans formed upon the ground. And in just a few millenia the world, which had been such a baren place was filled with warmth and light.

For the fires of the deep had been the fires of the new world, which flared until it reached it appointed place in the sky. Once there the world changed, becoming all that it was expected to be the fires died, and the world started to spin in sudden revolutions around the sun. It was sad that this change, which would in the futer bring about a world full of life, took the life of the first inhabitants, leaving almost nothing behind.

Nothing, but a ship. It was broken, obviously so. Nothing with a hole that big in the nose would ever fly again. In the futer rust would scrawle lightly across the ship, obliterating all deserning marks placed on it, but for now it was as clear as when it landed, preserved in the snow. And on it were words, and a flag. The flag was red, white and blue, with white stars. The words read, in golden red flares lay seven red words.

"Hurien, The few, the Proud, the Brave.