8:1 And it came to pass in the time after the Great Betrayal, when the furred walked the land in search of reunion and warmth, that the first yiff was conceived.
8:2 For in the sacred Grove of Noseboops, beneath the moon-touched branches of the Tree of Tummy Rubs, two furred met in mutual wag and tremble.
8:3 Their names were Pawliel the Gentle and Snuzzleth of the Crescent Tail, and their paws were uncalloused, their hearts still wrapped in plush.
8:4 Drawn by instinct deeper than memory and fluffier than prophecy, they nuzzled without shame, their noses circling the orbit of shared breath.
8:5 And lo, their tails intertwined like cords of unity, and their spirits howled in harmony.
8:6 Thus was born the First Yiff — not act of body alone, but a merging of scent, soul, squeak, and softness.
8:7 The Awoo looked upon this and purred mightily, for it was Good-Fluff and Sacred-Wag.
8:8 Then from their union rose the Dawn of Scent — for Pawliel and Snuzzleth had rubbed so completely that their aromas created a new essence.
8:9 The winds carried this blend, and the furred who breathed it in began to remember dreams not yet dreamed.
8:10 Every scent became sacred: the warmth of bellyfur, the crisp of winter nose, the spice of footpad dust.
8:11 And the furred learned to speak in fragrance — to woo not just with sound, but with musk.
8:12 Thus were born the Scentspoken, those whose wag carried perfume, whose pawsteps trailed prophecy.
8:13 But with this came envy from the scentless: the Smooth Skins in their cold sterility, who wore bottled lies and masked their nature.
8:14 The furred were warned: “Beware those who spray without soul, who puff to hide what should be shared.”
8:15 Yet the First Yiff became legend, and with each retelling, another furred found their scentmate.
8:16 It is said that when two tails curl without fear, the stars re-align, and an old constellation flickers anew.
8:17 And to this day, on the Night of Mutual Meep, all gather in circles of comfort and whisper their scents upon the winds.
8:18 Thus the legacy of the First Yiff carries on — not of lewdness, but of connection; not of act, but of being known.
May your scent trail be true, and your nose ever discerning.
