Far, far away from where we were, from our thoughts and problems, was the desert country of Oghrine. Or, more specifically, there was the town called Vesk. It was a small, simple town. But that was where the similarities to Entheen ended. The people who lived there were of the Nigalea culture. They worshiped animals, spirits, ancestors, and that was all I knew about them. And there, on a cliff where she always waited, a girl sat. she thought. She dreamed. The cliff where she sat had a view that was beautiful, as you could almost see all the way to the end of the blue-indigo desert. The desert was oddly colored, for reasons no one knows why. It’s deep blue sand is basically the same, but makes the desert around Vesk seem like a Haven, a place that served as a shelter from the rest of the desert. Vesk was in a small, vegetated part of Ouphrine, and their main crop was either corn or cactus lotuses. Cactus lotuses were a type of fruit that grew on the tall cactuses of Oughrine, and they were recognizable by the brightly colored flowers that they were named for. The pollen of the plant was plentiful, so pollenization was as simple as plucking a flower and shaking it over others. But if the pollen was put into water, it could be used as a vibrant dye, which was used for ceremonies in Vesk. The girl’s name was Rain. She was special. Why? Because she was a Sornawinde. A Sornawinde was a person who was chosen by an ancestor or spirit to house themselves in, thus giving them talents of premonition or empathy. But Rain was different. And her name was ironic, because a rain spirit lived within her. And when she could, and she could only do it once in a long while, she blessed Vesk with rain. And not just Vesk. Their half of the Kornavia desert was blessed with a torrential downpour. She could also heal the sick. But she didn’t do that too often for two reasons: one, because people rarely got sick in Vesk, their medicine woman was highly skilled, and two, because of the emotional pain that she felt. When someone felt pain, according to their faiths, it was stored, as a memory, in a part of the soul. When that person is healed, the healer feels every memory of pain that person ever did. She had once healed a girl with mental problems, a girl whose name she cannot remember, and she felt the pain and sorrow that the girl had to bear. She had cut herself, without her own knowledge, because of the emotions she felt. But Rain didn’t focus on that. Rain was a happy girl. Or at least she tried to be. She stared at the blue desert’s shapeless beauty,  and also the strange rock formations that seemed to not only defy, but taunt the laws of nature. A huge boulder balanced on a thin yet towering rock formation, and she knew that if it broke, she would feel the wind from it all the way up here.

Her long, blue- black hair blew in the uncharacteristically cold breeze, and she smiled. She could feel the red dye on her right hand and the blue dye on her left beginning to chip. Good. She didn’t like the fact that she had to be labeled for her gifts. She even had dye on her face. But the dye on her hands- mainly on the tip of her fingers- bothered her the most. She knew as well as anyone what they meant. That she was different. That she was not like you. That she was important, to be sheltered and protected. That she was not normal. That’s why she liked it here, instead. The animals didn’t judge her. They liked her. They felt safe with her, with the spiritual pureness of her. She liked the birds, especially the Harrison hawk she had named Andreas. But she knew she shouldn’t name him. He was an animal. He did not deserve to be named. When she told her parents that, they agreed at first, thinking she thought names were above animals, too good for them. But she meant that they were above names. They laughed at her. But they were sure she kidded. But she liked that bird. Loved him, even. Like a brother. But she was staring off, deep in thought, when she saw something odd. Over the distant horizon, there were shapes moving. Many of them. Dark shapes. Shapes that moved with a solemn, business-like speed, like they found their work personal. Or, even worse, they did. They were carrying weapons. Long, sharp, rusty blades. And she stood. The wind blew her hair back dramatically, the fiery glow of setting sun of the desert dancing on her face, revealing the cold, indigo sheen of her long hair. Her fierce eyes stared, trying to see if they were traders. Traders normally came well protected. But they usually had several caravans amid the defense. This didn’t. It was all defense. And they had no wares to sell, no food to barter. These strange men were here for war. She saw that they had tall pikes, tall bloody pikes.

With -she could barely make them out-  boar’s heads on them. Hideous, severed  boars’ heads, with millions of flies swarming around them. She knew what that meant. Imbroloth. She ran barefoot all the way back to her village, past the desert brush and tall cactuses, atanding in wait for the invaders like the last veteran soldiers waiting to die honorably in some long forgotten war. Her feet pounded the sandy ground. But she still heard the steady march of the army behind her. She panted, and ran, but they still were behind her. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear them... stomping and grunting and hissing, almost a giant entity all itself. She needed to alert the Illiath, a tribe of Harrison hawks believed to be reincarnated war heros born in this village who still want to protect it. Andreas was one of them. And they were larger that Harrison hawks, too. They were at least four feet tall if they stood on the ground, and had a wingspan of over ten feet. They were the only thing keeping the town safe from bandits. Well, the town had a small band of warriors, too, human ones, but the hawks were the first- and last- lines of defense.

Her heart leaped as she saw a small cloud of birds fly up from the distance. It was them. She still ran, knowing that they would steer around her, and shut her eyes. She could hear only the fluttering of huge wings and the colossal wind of their speed. None of them squawked or chirped. They were birds of war. She ran and ran, her feet trembling from effort. She turned and looked at them. The black army, covered with rust and weather-beaten armor, held up their shields resiliently, waiting for the impact of the birds. The cliff had split the army in two, as there were two ramp-like lifts in either side of it. She had an idea. She turned, and stared at the cloudless, blue-red sky. She stared, willing it to answer. Her fists clenched, half in anticipation of the birds to hit them, half for the hope her plan would work.  There was a silence. Time seemed to slow down as the birds, like animate arrows, dived at the oncoming warriors. They shot up in the air, and shut their wings. And then, time sped up again. And soon the sky darkened. Slowly at first, then as an angry black mass of clouds, roiling and rumbling toward her like a million horses. It was a mountain of clouds. It was dark, the desert becoming night. Thunder cracked like a great  whip, a drum of the sky, powerfully booming. And soon, she felt it. One drop. Then two. Then three. Then, like the hissing of a snake around her, the rain fell on the sand and dampened it. And this wasn’t a shower. It was a monsoon. The paint on her face was washed to the ground, running along her front and dyeing the sand. Lightening boomed and exploded through the sky. Her figure was soon drenched with her namesake, her hair heavy around her head. She had been holding her breath the entire time, and when she breathed, like a bucket being poured from the sky, it pounded the army marching towards her. They were already busy with the powerful birds that could rip the spears out of their very hands and claw out their very faces. The birds were missiles, powerful arrows that seemed to fly with a driving force. Knowing that if they died, it would not be in vain. Rain clenched her fists, willing it to rain harder and harder, lightening cracking. She could hear the stretching of bowstrings being knocked, and then the thwiing! of arrows flying past her. She did not move, though. Her storm was the only thing keeping hope alive. The children of Imbroloth were fully clothed in metal. Wet metal. And they were packed tightly together, trying to fend off the hawks as a pack. And all she needed to do was strike them with lightening. But, unlike rain, lightening was like a wild horse. Questioning, insubordinate, and, worst of all, powerful. She simply needed to will it to hit them in the dead center. She tried and focused, her eyes flashing and reflecting the light from the sky as it cracked... and then... KKKRRAAACKKK!!!!!!

A single, shining branch of light snaked down from the sky and struck one of them in the head. It weaved around the birds, striking specifically at one. The Nullroth’s tri-pupiled eyes widened in horror, all three pupils dilating in the presence of such a powerful force. It hit him slowly, like a hand barely touching a childs forehead, calmly, and then the crash. A billion volts of white hot electricity hotter that all three of Falacia’s suns struck him in the face. The light did not just touch him, it seemed to move through him. His muscles spasmed and his face contorted, eventually blackening and melting away into nothing. His skin and features crumbled to ash around him, leaving only a blackened and burnt skeletal structure strung with organs. He fell, and the light spread. To each and every one of the nullroth. They all had their backs turned, so their spines were easily reached, as that was one of the lightening’s prime targets. Her eyes fell from nature’s carnage and she dropped to her knees. She stared with open, silvery, storm-grey eyes at the warrior’s  in front of her, and they offered her a hand to help her up. She shook her head from side to side slowly, and fell. She was spread eagled on the ground, painted fingers gnarled into a mock claw. The rain still poured, and the Nullroth all fell, their lifeless, hissing bodies piled on the deep blue desert sand. The warriors put away their bows and picked up Rain. She was surprisingly light. They laid her down in her home, and told her parents of what happened, and the news spread like wildfire. Some said she was a hero, but the medicine woman simply looked at the floor and thought. Her wrinkled brows furrowed, her pale old eyes bright with contemplation. She looked up at her proud parents, and told them,

“What Rain did was both one of the stupidest and greatest thing this village of Vesk  has ever witnessed. She has defended our village and undoubtably saved us from massacre, but now Imbroloth and his children will think that the one they seek is here.” “Who does he seek?” they asked worried. “He seeks the Son. But he has already been found. So he must not know that, and he must be getting frustrated. And Gods like him are some of the most arrogant, self-worshiping beings in the world, who will never admit their mistakes. And the world weeps when they are frustrated, for they have all the more reason to rain rage down upon us.” the old woman’s words were grave. But her face brightened. “But for now, we must at least thank Rain for what she has done. And then, we must leave Vesk until they are through with it.”  So they would have done just that, leave Vesk and become nomads, fleeing from Imbroloth and always running. But silently, in her unconscious mind, she heard that. And she would not flee like a rodent from a cat. She would either stand and fight, or find someone else who would. And since her village was populated by farmers, a medicine woman, and the dozen warriors who had defeated the relatively small band of Nullroth, they would not fight with her. So the nest day, she told herself in her mind, she would just have to find someone else who would.