Because he was a solemn creature, Maro watched the world smolder from afar. His mont was an imposing structure, jagged and callous and run through with creeks of cooled magma; it struck shadow across even the ruddy fields of Primrose Creek, tainting petals black and painting ruin upon once-pure streams;
But it was his, and much preferable to the wind-inflicted village below. At present the thing was burning, if not with fire then with words; nasty things, things of scarcity, desire, greed.