The wind cuts across the open field. An old oak stubbornly resists. Its yields a deep shaking of its leaves bristling against the change. A darkness curls up from the roots. Bitter tannin flavors the breeze as it passes by.
The foul smell carries upward. Bits of grey rolling into long low clouds. The sky and Sun try to resist. The steady breeze keeps flowing. And darkness fills the air.
A second wind grows steady beneath it’s grey shield. Unseen hands cast rain in fierce waves toward to unsuspecting ground. The other trees curl away fron the onslaught. Flowers bow their heads. Even the dirt dances about trying to hold ground.
Still the oak sways it’s branches. The storm feeds upon the ancient bark. Sinister lightning bolts feast upon its bark. Dark spirals dig into it’s sides. The bark frays. Sparks swirl about the grand oak. Slowly it’s leaves start…
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