Singed and yellowed grass are but stains in a lush field. A pixie's trail of mischief and misfortune, a withered path with smoldering trees and the stink of burning fur. Follow the echoes of destruction until the press of heat causes a pause. There creeps the lava as it oozes down the volcano's side. Its touch is a greedy one, for it devours all that dares come close. Wildfires spark from dry grasses and careen toward the mountain forests. Some die early, nothing more than a candle's dance within the wind. Others rage for days and fill the air with smoke and soot.

When the angels do not weep, the land is desolate and black. Lava rock clicks beneath the nails of wolves as they walk past. Slowly, ever so slowly the divine conquer the ocean. Waves crash against hardened stone.

Only those that are lost wander here, for perhaps they wish for death more so than life.