TERRA

They say the earth itself cracked open to birth him from soil and rocks.

It's wrong, of course, but Terra likes this story better than the reality. He'd prefer it if the mortal wolves spoke of his creation in wonder, speaking on the magma pushing through his veins like it was extraordinary, raving about his fur made from dirt and eroded pebbles; his hyena-like mane standing tall on his neck in mountain-fashion.

But he was rather weak when everything happened.

In the Beginning, he was the third Great Spirit to awaken. Tanto, patron Spirit of the moon and water, had simply plunged her paws into the depths of the ocean and hooked him from the crust with a claw. He was a sputtering mess when he surfaced, coughing and gagging on the water in his iron lungs.

But where he stepped above the waters, there was a horrible trembling that disturbed the calm ocean's soft waves and the very bottom of the world sprung up to make the land.

And so, Terra ran.

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[Story — Godhood]

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Terra's centuries-long lifetime wore greatly on his mind, weighing on his rock-maned shoulders like a boulder made of pure boredom. Every day, it was shift the plates and rumble the earth, burst calderas or leak magma. The earth moved slow; the geologic scale spanned over centuries to appear different.

His job wasn't like Maka's, moving the sun every day. It was exhausting to be so free.

For decades, Terra swam through sediment and minerals tiredly, wishing for a purpose that didn't move as slowly as a snail. Eventually, as if Tanto herself had listened to his silent thoughts, she granted his yearning.

A seer. A yearling of an established pack that frequently pleased the Spirits. She was in constant contact with half-spirits and lower heavenly beings, receiving and sending messages from both sides. Terra wasn't immediately impressed—he's seen such spectacles before—but her only prayers had gone to him. Which he bawked at: prayers normally were sent to useful Spirits, those who directly impacted wolves' lives.

'Great earth god, Terra, I don't know if you know this, but our river's path is blocked by your avalanche's stone. I ask for your assistance so we at last may have our waters. Can you cast the perfect quake for us and stop our summer heat?'

Terra, eager for an opportunity, obliged. No tricks, no games. And in his earthquake he sent for the pack, he gained a group of fervent supporters. But since then, the seer's presence hadn't diminished.

'Great earth god, Terra. For such a revered spirit, we've not seen much of you in centuries. May you join us for our summer celebrations and indulge in our gifts?

Of course, he wasn't sure of a physical appearance, so he sent a small bought of quakes—and savored the gleam in the young seer's eyes.

Great god, Terra, you're painfully distant despite your presence in our faithful lands. Often we see much of your brethren, but never of you. Must you stay so far from us?'

Perhaps, he may visit a dream hers? If only for one night.

'Terra, your many dreams astound me and your favors bring glee—If you may take it, I offer my apologies for being the distant one as of late. The pack duties weigh heavy and suitors prove persistent. Not for me, for my connection to you and the gods. If only you could crack open the earth under their paws and swallow them whole.'

Terra would do no such thing, but at least he's humored. It's time, it seems, that he finds himself compelled to appear to mortals again.

Dear Terra, your quest scares me greatly, nevertheless, I trust your judgment. Your aide keeps me from straying and your faith in me is refreshing. I trust you wholly; lead me where you must.'

To his lands. Of course, to his lands. The rocks and valleys named after him and his rock mane. He would trust no one else.

'Dearest Terra, I know you implored me not to pray any longer, for you are here with me, but I must confess I feel compelled to. You have helped my former family and friends, you have aided their land, you have fended off suitors and given me a home in which to stay and grow. I must gift you something in return. Tell me, Terra, what do you wish for?

Terra answers in their den, returning from his duties of shifting plates and rumbling the earth, when he curls around his mortal mate with glee. Per his request, Laiken does not pray any longer. Instead, her news comes to him directly.

"Terra, my love, our pups will be here within the moon. Give the earth a break and tend to us?"