Winds of Fire

Once, there was a young boy. A young boy who, by nature, could be very focused, very driven and very determined when he wanted to be. What the young boy, Yao, loved more than anything else was night time, before bed when the sky would darken and his tribe would light a big fire.
"Yao!" his mother would always say as his eyes lit up bright at what, for him, never failed to be a novelty. "Be careful!"

Yao loved the fire; the way it danced in the air, the warming quality it brought to the wind that swirled around him, the vibrant colours, illuminating the otherwise pitch black of the sky. Often, the dancing flames seemed to act like a hypnotic, completely capturing him so to the rest of the world, he was lost. His mother looked on from a small distance, wide eyed. She'd try to capture his attention, but Yao didn't even seem to hear her at all. Instead, he moved forward at a snail's pace, barely an inch at a time.

The flame was given only a moment to lick at the side of the young boy's face before he was snatched away to safety by an older man from the tribe. As he held him firmly by the shoulders, the boy's eyes were somewhat absent, looking past the man instead of returning his gaze, until Yao took a deep inhalation of breath, suddenly seeming to focus on the man in front of him, having spontaneously snapped out of the trance he'd been under.

At once, the man's gaze hardened. "Yao!" he said sternly, the words coming in some sort of grunt. "What were you thinking?!" Yao turned instinctively at the wail like scream to see his mother approaching, eyes wide and tears streaming in a constant, quick rhythm down her cheeks. "Look at you!" she said, and Yao noticed the man step away as his mother reached out for him, her hands touching and stroking his face. "My beautiful boy!" As her fingers connected with one particular part of the side of his face, Yao's face involuntary contorted into a hard wince as the strange pain coursed through his blood. Immediately, his mother stepped back. "Are you hurt?" she asked, her expression turning into one of worry. In spite of the stinging sensation he felt, Yao bowed his head and shook it. "I could not say," he said.
"Look at your face!" she said, a pleading quality to her eyes as she examined the spot which served as the source of the stinging. "That will leave a scar!"

And that it did. It took a long while for the small, angry burn Yao had sustained to mellow from it's initial raging red, to a pale pink colour before paling to the lingering white it would remain as a reminder of Yao's unfortunate ill-fated venture, that touch to close to the fire.

At first, Yao stayed away from the fire, the trauma causing him fear of a reoccurrence. But as he grew older, Yao's more dominant driven nature prevailed and the allure of the dancing flames became too great, causing him to return.

The serious scowl not an unusual expression on his face these days broke a brief  moment as he felt the familiar warm winds of the fire's essence swirl around him. Yao was unaware of quite how powerful the gust of wind had been as he stood at the edge of the clearing reserved specially for these nightly gatherings round the fire until everyone surrounding the fire on logs turned to look at him. Occasionally glancing around him at the people all staring back at him, Yao strolled up the dirt strewn path to resume his place in the closest row of logs to the fire. Just as quickly as it had come, the attention on Yao dissipated and everything seemed to return to normal.

No one gave Yao's return a second thought. Until, nights later when the tribe decided to have a dance round the fire. Yao was quick to get involved, enthusiastically dancing about and waving his arms in the air. It only took one observant person to notice. Everyone stopped and turned to face the woman who had called out. "Everyone," she said, "try and watch both Yao and the fire." Confused, a lot of the tribe shrugged, glancing periodically from the fire to Yao, occasionally back at the woman as well. "Yao," she said and his gaze returned to rest on hers. "Lift your arms," and he did.
"Look!" Someone called, pointing toward the fire. "Yao, keep moving your arms, up and down." As he did so, the fire rose and fell in perfect synchrony with the movement of his arms.
"Yao controls the fire!" At this, Yao could mot help but smile, and suddenly the little light in his eyes illuminated brighter, resembling the vibrant fire behind him.

Legend has it that it is indeed Yao who controls the fire, and with his endless energy, it dances along with him, a constant, willing partner in a passionate tango of sorts. You'll notice the fire really come alive when the wild, dancing flames are reflected in Yao's eyes and the mischievous nature always at his heart is really allowed to shine as he thrives in his element.