Willow-Herb

[Anhelisk]

Fires race across the swamps and fields, turning dull, papery green-browns bright, so painfully, wonderfully bright. A kiss erupts into fiery echoes, crackling into ashen gray...


...then black...

...black...

...black.

They come slowly at first,

then all at once,

erupting into a cacophany of light and bright and colour, mimicking the fire that gives them life. They follow it, a beloved finale to a deadly dance that heralds peace to come.