When the Sphinx was foolish and the world was not yet round, she asked the Elements, Of what shall I be made?
Then came Fire, and, playing havoc as usual, speaking from the depths of a burning forest, said,
With these flames I wrought your mother in a furnace bold, from molten brew, poured swift and smoking in the mold there laid. She that burns in the hearts and belly, fomenting ascension and destruction in one form. Of this mettle you may also, if it is your desire. Although I see, and you see, your are eyes fresh wrought in the winds.
Out of the embers so quiet I come, born of lightning and desire, I temper the cup and metal edge that is smelted from the ground. I warm the winter night and dry the dampened sock.
If you choose to be of fire made, your fur, a confection in flickering tongues shall delight.
Your shoulders, spitting and cracking in the giant heat will span the doorframe.
Your breath a wildfire, scorching the grasses across the steppe, seen in the distance until the horses are turned away.
Yes, yes, said the Sphinx, but apart from all that, what power and fortitude do you bring to the party of which I may partake, were I to become a creature of the flames?
Well, said Fire, You cant make smoke without, bread without an oven and the follow on of cheese on toast, pancakes, porridge or roasted fowl on a spit.
I am not much interested by cookery, said the Sphinx, As I am an eternal being, not bound by the encumbrances of eating, drinking and breathing.
Not even chips or roast potatoes, said Fire, I do a very good hotpot with which to fortify yourself against the colder climes?
I am not troubled by variations in the climate either, said the Sphinx sounding bored.
I am essential, continued Fire, in the smelting and melting department, the cheese on the pizza would remain hard and unpalatable. There would be no crusty edge on the macaroni cheese or crispy bacon. The copper ore would remain dispersed upon the rock and pottery would be a very sloppy affair.
You seem obsessed with cooking things, said the Sphinx, Are there no destructive elements that might enhance my armoury?
Your paws would echo an expression of the sun, continued Fire, With claws of plasma curling out in space, some looping back to collapse and rejoin, whilst other curls escape into the void and coruscate anything in their path. The number and eloquence of your claws will multiply in times of need and cut through the most surly silence, like a scimitar through some kind of solidified dairy product.
The push and pull of your paws will fashion the greatest of forest trees into black dust, which will in turn cover the windscreens of cars in a neighbouring continent.
This is to me more interesting, said the Sphinx, and can you relate to me the fashion and marvel of my tail?
Your tail a river of lava upon the mountain side, unstoppable, hissing and bubbling in contact with the sea, glowing in the darkness.
Like a whiplash, your tail in flame and smoke cloud adorned may follow or proceed, smiting the enemies of your friends and the friends of your enemies.
I was looking for something a bit more picturesque, said the Sphinx, have you got anything in bronze? I think that I am searching for something a bit more sturdy and less ephemeral, said the Sphinx, But I thank you for your presentation, perhaps the use of bullet points might enhance the audience experience were you to have another opportunity to sell you flames.
All that being, I shall take your paws of fire unto myself, that the sun itself may marvel at my claws.
