Huron
Legacy Name: Huron

Lake Huron covers over twenty thousand square miles of land with its abundant supply of fresh water and thousands of tiny islands man has never bothered to explore. It serves as home for a multitude of birds and fish that live out the cycle of their lives above and among the waves.

It will come as no great surprise that these little creatures know a secret that has evaded the attention of humankind for millennia.

In a cave framed by curtains of kelp lives a beautiful creature with seashells in his hair and golden-plated hooves. Once a treasured helper of Poseidon, he has watched empires rise and fall and has seen the old gods replaced by the miracles of Science and Technology. Sometimes he weeps for how hardened the hearts of men have become but it is not in his nature to let sadness overpower the joy of life implanted in his heart by Zeus himself.

The memory of his last ascension to the tip of Mount Olympus is as fresh as if it happened only yesterday. The great gods were fading around the edges, their eyes filled with a dread only death can bring. They were calling in the oldest of the diving creatures one by one, giving them a choice. Some such as the satyrs relinquished their semi-immortal status to be made into the basic animal versions of themselves. Others, such as the mighty Pegasus were filled with too much pride to accept such a fate. These, too, would fade to nothing in time. The hippocampus stallion could accept neither fate. He offered up an alternative that made the gods whisper among themselves, one whispered in his ear by the Muses themselves.

What if a few creatures of old were left in their natural state to keep the spark of wonder from ever fully dying out of humanity?

They would build their homes in remote corners of the world where humans would eventually branch out. Their messages would be subtle. Sparkles in the sky on a moonless night. A dappled pattern of shadows taking on the shape of a deceased loved one's name. Rumbles of thunder that shape words human ears can almost understand.

He chose Lake Huron as his new home, traveling broad stretches of untamed land and swimming waters that had never felt the presence of a boat. By this choice, he named himself.

Huron the Helper. The Whisper of Wonder.

For many years he lived simply, awaiting the coming of people.

He explores the multitude of islands at night, his hooves throwing sparks from the pebbles on the shore lines that children lying in camper tents often mistake for fireflies. He hovers beneath the windows of writers and artists that come to secluded cabins to get away from the turmoil of a modern city life. Sometimes he meets a traveling muse and waves his forked tail in greeting.

He still believes there is hope for humanity.

Ray reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. Shaving always makes him itchy. He doesn't particularly like the stubble-headed look but short hair is Big Bucks Oil company policy. For what they're paying this fast food cashier turned rig expert, he can put up with the annoyance of an irritable scalp.

His team's been on-site for two weeks now. They're awaiting final approval from the Powers That Be before they can actually start the drilling process.

He's looked on the "Save the Lake" movement dispassionately, sharing the hopes of his co-workers that the "tree-huggers" will either get tired of sitting in tents with 30MPH winds or do something outrageous enough to get them thrown in jail.

Ray can't understand what the big deal is about a few trees and one crummy lake. There's got to be thousands of lakes in the Midwest alone. Go find another fishing spot.

The night the dreams start, he washed down a giant T-Bone steak with a tankard of beer from the local pub. He blames this caveman's ideal meal for the dark visions that keep him tossing and turning in his bunk.

He's seven years old again, out in the middle of Lake Lemon. His dad's got his fishing pole bated. It's a calm, beautiful day with minimal breeze and full sun. It's the kind of image you put on tourist pamphlets to lure in those people who weren't born with fins or a desperate craving for seafood.

Ray doesn't get excited at first when he sees the shape growing beneath the water. It's probably just another old boot. How can so many people lose their foot gear? Are these the boots of those bold souls that fail at crossing the ice? Are their bodies trapped deep in the silt at the bottom, never discovered by the local police dive team? Ray has a very active imagination for a seven-year-old.

The shape of the fish finally becomes obvious as its pale lips break the surface. In reality, Ray managed to haul in the largemouth bass for a glorious family meal (with a little help from his dad.) In this dream, the whopper puts up no fight. His scales are made pale by a thin coating of fungus and his eyes are bloody orbs. The fish opens pale gums, desperately trying to breathe in the open air.

Then the impossible happens. The fish speaks.

"Stop the drilling, Ray."

Ray wakes covered in sweat. He's never been the sort of guy who has vivid dreams and he almost never remembers those vague few on waking. This is different.

Every night for a week he has this same dream, only each night the scene is more gruesome. The trees become black sticks with knobby splinters sticking out. The water takes on a sickly yellow color, acidic bubbles hissing and bursting on the surface. Ray's father falls into the water that seventh night, dissolving into a skeleton before the foul water makes him disappear completely.

Ray has seen enough.

The team boss finds the components of his rig scattered over five acres and bent out of shape to a degree that the whole rig will need to be replaced. The job will take months and cost Big Bucks millions. Posters are put up in every police station in the state. There's no doubt about who committed this act of corporate treason. Ray's locker was cleaned out and his truck was gone but it was the note he left taped to the rig's support beam that gave him away. It read:

Mother nature will have her revenge. Someday you'll be glad for what I've done. You better hope Mr. Bass doesn't get in your head for a visit. ~Ray

The Save the Lakes community welcomed Sun Ray with open arms. They share their organic food and gave him a place to sleep every night away from the long reach of the law. They praised his efforts in Michigan and swore to add his tale to the Lake Love Legend Ledger. They never once criticized him for letting his hair grow long.

Huron will continue to inspire the dreams of humanity until people learn to live in harmony with nature rather than trying to destroy it.

Credits

Profile by: Ringo
Character Art by Ankoku
Story by Pureflower
Overlay by Paris
Thank you Virus for giving me Huron!