And it came to pass that Thane beheld the world undone.
Thane had a strange dream that day. He stood upon the edge of a cliff, and a shadow covered his heart. The wind howled, but it was not the song of the living; but as Thane watched, he saw the sigh of a dying world. He turned, and behold, what lay behind him was a land stricken by a curse.
The plains were gray and split like the cracked lips of the thirsty. The trees no longer breathed; they stood as hollow sentinels, their branches clawing at the air in silent supplication. The leaves that clung to them were as thin as paper and fluttered not in wind but in despair.
Once-green fields had become carpets of ash. Rivers that once sang had become slithering threads of mud, their waters evaporating into steam that smelled faintly of blood.
The earth itself seemed weary of living. Death and decay was evident everywhere.
Bones, blood, and echoes of howls and weeping's could be heard.
