Belina stood at the edge of a precipice, brown brittle grass coarse under her bare feet. Glancing down, she was startled to find that she was wearing no more than the skin with which shed been born. Shivering as much from outrage and fear as from the cold, she tried to ignore her chattering teeth. Gusts from a howling wind whipped her long chestnut hair in front of her face, temporarily blinding her.
She welcomed the brief interlude. Chaos smoldered beneath her; a chaos which would inevitably reduce her entire world to ash. The remains of Tainsh, her village, made her want to metamorphose into the wind, but terror paralyzed both her voice and feet. Fumes from the burning carnage came and went with the gusts; causing her eyes to water and her nose to burn; making her want to vomit. The interlude was indeed brief. Below her, plumes of smoke and fire danced above gutted buildings. Places where people had worked. Places where people had lived. Tears blurred her sight, and she let them fall, refusing to wipe them away.
There was a purpose behind the Creator foretelling Rheudaushims future: she needed to be shown the death of her world.
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