Flandris, a raven haired pixie, perched on the tip of a branch overlooking the village. He could see the vast wasteland that resulted from Imra's foul magic.
'Very, very bad,' he thought to himself. It was too late to report to his master. There was nothing he or the other Gods could do now. So Flandris sat, anxiously, to see what might happen next.
In the distance, the young man called Hazzoos was talking to his dog. Two of the girls were building a small holy shrine. At the outskirts of the village border, a pack of dogs howled for lost companions.
Flandris' slight figure trembled as a breeze blew past his leaf. Like a shadowy laugh, the sound echoed across the leaves, sending goosebumps up and down his spine.
Invisible but not undetectable, Flandris fled. With a leap to the nearest slip wind, he glided to a nearby tree.
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