~The Fodder Grooves, Keep Skies.
The air was dry and humid. Like something tainted, something cursed. The wind billowed softly, but it was sparse and heavy. The trees stood eerily still, branches frail and sickly.
The leaves didn't sway in the wind. There was hardly any left on the dried out branches, rather, they had all wilted, littering the earth with death and decay.
The lush greenery of the Fodder Grooves was long gone, replaced by a rapidly spreading decline. The Fodder Grooves thrived all year round, the roots of the trees deep enough to survive even the most bitter winters.
This despairing sight was an unusual phenomena in these parts. But nothing touched by shadow toxin remained as it was. This was no exception.
The skies were unusual too. It was daytime, yet there were no clouds to be seen. The sun was gone too. Just a vast expanse of pale grey-blue indifference.
It was like the weather couldn't decide on what it wanted to be.
