Why must the Blue Moon Cry? Is a question great Dollidoo philosophers had asked since the moon Azure had fallen from the Skyveil leaving in the heavens a great gaping wound that bleed blackness past the glassy sky. Foreign stars and dead worlds drifted past the wound.  

He had heard the histories of his people in his egg cooed by his mother and some stories are born in bone and heart from the great Siegfried who flew above the Gods of Day and Night or that the sky wept tears of blue, seeds that if returned to the sky would return the lost moon Azure.  

Snuffles left the comfort of his mother’s wing and decided that the blue of his feathers meant he was one of these lost tears. So, he would set out to return to the sky. Now that he was a big bird Snuffles hugged his mother goodbye and set off across the island of Takai in search of a way to return to the sky.  

He waddled down the dirt highway trekking around where weather had worn lines in the road and the strange humidoos with their strange bodies had dug up sections of road and filling bags with earth had put them back down like scales before they once again buried them. He found this strange, but the humidoos always did such odd things.  

He waddled along the road until he came upon a roadside inn which he slipped into. In the courtyard he came across a great violet dragon its long whiskers snaked about like the feelers of an ant. One great platter-like silver eye watched a humidoo shaping wax with his hand to make feathered wings. He looked upon them and wondered if they could help him fly. He cooed and waved his wings and gained the attention of both the humidoo and dragon.  

“Hello there little one.” The humidoo said his song was strange and carried no coo but he managed to decipher the strange song.  

Snuffles cooed melodically and when the humidoo did not seem to understand, pointed his long beak at the wings and flapped his own. 

“You want my wings? You already have a pair.” He chuckled. 

He flapped his wings more showing off that his wings were too short for him to fly. 

The thoughts that touched his mind were not his own; they were sweet, deep, deeper, and depthless. They felt like raspberries for the mind and had an echo that bounced down his mind and into his soul. ‘Hello child. You think to replace a moon with your little body?” 

He nodded enthusiastically. 

‘Why? You are but a little doodle. Ah, you think you are a little seed from Azure. That is adorable. I fear you will be disappointed, but I will allow you the chance to pursue your dreams. Maybe the pursuit is enough.’ The dragon turned its eye upon the humidoo and what must be comprehension crossed its strange face.  

“I don’t think these will let you fly.” The humidoo said and he seemed to think. He took something flat and a feather and there was motion. He looked it over and gathered material building over the course of a day with bamboo poles, wax feathers, and twine a set of wings that would fit on Snuffles back. The humidoo tied it on and Snuffles give a few flaps feeling more lift but added weight.  

Snuffles flapped his wings one short, clawed hand covered in scales like polished amethysts raised him up and threw him up into the air where he managed to stay airborne for a while gliding above the inn until he grew too tired and drifted back down. 

‘I don’t know what else we can do little one, mayhap you will find something else to help you ascend.’ The dragon patted him on the head with one long whisker, and the humidoo helped remove the wings and carefully packed them into a sack so that they wouldn’t get damaged on his travels. 

He traveled down the road passing villages and farms. The most interesting event was a Tengu tried to snatch him up in a great swoop, but one swift peak from his long sharp beak had sent the creature packing. He eventually came to a larger town where the humidoos were wearing strange costumes and artificial beaks that covered their flat faces. They had colorful feathering, and the smells of rich, sweet, and spicy celebration food filled the air. He saw strange dragons with many legs as if one had bound together a dozen humidoos. There was dancing and he looked up in wonder as they took strange objects that lit up and held up to the heavens and after a while rose to the skyveil above. He waddled after them trying to catch one or two so he could figure out their magical secrets, but humidoos were too tall to reach the ones that had yet to rise into the sky. That was when he saw them. There was a screech, and something streaked up above the lanterns bursting in the sky in colorful sprays. He pursued where the streaks came from and found humidoos setting up strange cylinders and with a stroke of a match they went skyward. They carefully aimed them to avoid the rising lanterns and as they seemed to be seeing over their own gathering, he wasn’t sure but it seemed several humidoos had gathered for different reasons. He undid the twin that bound his bag to his back and waddled to the great flying things. 

Several humidoos set up a particularly large flying thing and as they set a line of twine on fire he waddled over and clung to the great missile as it launched into the sky! He felt the wind tearing at him as he ascended in moments above the lanterns pierced a low cloud nearly hit Eur Chara who blinked up at him as he passed and as he near the great sky wound exploded. He fell almost as fast in smoke and ash and bright greens and whites. The cloudy goddess tried to catch him, but he fell through her moisture did put out his feathers at least and slowed him enough that he could extend his wings to slow his fall a little. He managed to control his fall enough to avoid the paved streets and buildings of the town and plummeted into the wet soil of a series of terraces full of water where plants stood in neat rows. He was buried in mud too deep to climb out, and he struggled, but he could not breathe, and he grew still.  

“Oh my, who would throw out a perfectly good Dollidoo.” A strong melodic voice sang; it was deep but muffled as pale hands pulled him from the ground mud turned to ash rather than stick to him. “Hello there.” He brushed the bird off his scarlet eyes like the death throes of a star. 

Snuffles whimpered and writhed from his burned feathers and battered body. Zatolen carried him off and took him to the plane of Talisman and softer hands tended to the fallen bird. Once all patched up and covered in a balm for his burns, Zatolen returned him to where he had abandoned his bag.  

“There we go. Now I don’t suggest launching yourself with things that explode in the future. Though cutting out the part that goes boom might help.” The dark god tapped his chin. “Hmm I think you might be on the right path with what you have. Though I won’t steal your thunder, or to avoid ruining my hair Chara’s… she doesn’t like people stealing thunder or lightning really.”  

Snuffles nodded and looked at his wings. He waddled off dragging back fireworks and knocking off the tops emptied out the explosive charge that made bright colors. He crammed the pointed top back on and with the help of Zatolen’s thumbs strapped the rockets to the frame of his wings. As the festivities died down Snuffles waddled from the city to the highest nearby hill and with his wing claws managed to light his own fuse after a great deal of effort. The fuse vanished between his legs and after a moment longer the rockets sent him upwards. It was hard to steer the massive amount of force behind him, but he managed to close in on the great wound. As he neared the star Siger forever at the top of the Skyveil grew hotter and wax started to melt. His rockets gave out and only momentum carried him forward slower. His wax wings ran down his back and when he felt like he’d go no further, passed the wound. He floated through darkness, a thick miasma, not quite air or substance. Distant stars are the only light which reflected off rocky spheres. Time past the Skyveil did not flow quite right, and he found himself being drawn towards one ruined world.  

Snuffles hit the dead world like a slung stone and was buried in ash and earth like a seed. He died where air had not been for cycles, in the ashes of a dead world, in bonemeal of a dead god, and he dreamed and they became divine. A spark, a seed, it grew into life, and the Dreamer’s Cradle flourished. It came to fill the wound with a soft blue glow.  

Why must the Blue Moon Cry? It cries, it cries because a Doodle must die.