The Fire Demons and the taming of the Mountains within [Chapter 2]

For a decade some degree of peace between the Humans and the Fire Demons, the next stage of the Sand Warriors. The Humans harvested rare minerals from the clouds in Air farms as the Fire Demons remained anchored to the restrictions of land, primarily their fortress of Bel-Seledas. They were studying the mountains. Although they were made of land materials, they feared the mountains, they revered them as gods. But one day a young Fire Demon named Balandrao son of Grandao decided it was time to act. He led a team of archaeologists to the mountains and began the descent upwards. For Nine Months they explored the mountain range, when they decided to turn back they were approached by an elderly asian man named
Kung-Hwei who lived in a cave. He sat them down around a large fire as they enjoyed a large broth made of salamander leaves and coats of badger aswell as an unknown secret ingredient. The old man smiled to himself and sang a song aloud to his guests;

Ah fickle thee wise men 3
rain on the cereal tender to
the cheeks of a child
for oats and berries do not sway
the land mass of old
or the childrens dismay
a goat so old
does not sleep
but watches the moonlight
his wood rearranged
like clams in a stove
bleating a cry
he dies

The travellers were utterly excited by the rhyme the old man uttered. They came to realise the secret ingredient within the broth was in fact, the plant of the ancients; Soy. With this coming realisation they became more then what they were, they had been blessed with the Finch within each one of them.
'Alas!' Balandrao exclaimed
'I have felt the finch within me all my life, now with with this knowledge hatched we can take the fight against the Wind Master and the Humans by building Wind craft of our own.'
'Yes' replied Jarktoff
As they flew back to Bel-Seledas to introduce Soy to its citizens the old man stood in his doorway with a glow in his eye, he laughed to himself with a smile and raised a glass of his own breast milk to his pursed lips and drank. Then rhymed to himself;

Be not a crab
but the lobster of old
the finches of farthington
have no reason to gloat
there feathers red and brown
and tassled with gold
have but no finger
to call their own.