Blood shadows fell on the ground below the crimson moon that hung in the midnight sky. The streets of pinehelm were filled with the sounds of metal on metal and the soft chanting of spells being woven. Rows of soldiers lined the front walls, and suddenly all was quiet. No man or child dare make a sound. The soldiers sat crouched like coiled springs waiting to be released by their captain. The dust on the roads began to blow, then the wind picked up and the leaves began to dance. Slowly the trees , the smallest at first joined, their lower arms waving welcomingly to the leaves, then the wind started to sing. The father trees joined their sons with low deep voices. The grass danced wildly as the tempo raced picking up speed, the sons dared to pick up their speed, longing to sway like the grass. The fathers stood by but dared not reach out knowing that they cannot twist like the grass, but their sons are not as firmly placed, not as experienced. Still they bent their body's reaching for the grass. Screams then fill the air as the sons footing was lost and he is torn from his brothers. One of the fathers, younger than the others reaches for his son confident in his strength but to no avail and soon his footing is also lost and he fell to die with his kin. The sky then screams out at the wind and reaches out with a hot jagged hand beating down upon the earth, flames of anger then spring from the fingertips, the hot tongues then began to lick at the father and son turning their skin black. The sky continued to let his anger be known until he saw what he had done and started to weep. The sky filled with black clouds as the weeping turned into a howling as the wind and sky join in suffering, their sorrows known by all.