Chapter 8 - The First Strike

The city of Hearth was quiet, too quiet for a place that thrived beneath the dense canopy of towering trees. The forest had always been their home, their shelter, and their protector -- their sacred bond with the earth was respected and worshipped with a fervency rivalling the moon goddess. But now, the air felt thick with heat and stillness, the trees' once vibrant leaves a pale shade of brown, the grass beneath their feet crisp and brittle as if the life was slowly seeping from beneath their feet. The drought had gripped them for weeks at the southernmost tip of the kingdom, and no amount of rituals or prayers seemed to stop the earth from drying out, from starving at the lack of rain.