The Wheel of Time turns endlessly, and Ages come and pass leaving memories that are long forgotten when those Ages come again. In an Age called the Fourth Age by some, an Age yet to come yet long past, a Wind rose cold to blow across a Canadian mountain range with the hints of a bitter winter.
Too much had happened; much was still to happen.
Things were on the change, but not for the better.
The Wind was not the beginning, but it was a beginning. And so it rushed through the mountain range, twisting, banking, flowing, between trees, over rocks, and through glades and glens to a haunting call.
Spirits stilled with fear. This was the Power of the Mother, the Power of protection... Where was it headed?
The Wind swirled through the remains of a large cove, the ground burnt and blasted, the few remaining trees twisted, broken, and burnt. Bits of a large aircraft littered the charred ground. The Wind found a blackened jaw fragment, reminiscent of a wolf, and stilled. A most terrible deed had been committed in this place, and Gaia knew several of her own had been silenced here. On the other side of the destroyed caern, the Wind formed again to head south, howling with ill tidings few could ever hope to fathom, much less understand.
West of Roan Mountain, TN, an elderly Cherokee woman stood still on a hidden, but well-worn footpath as the chill Wind blew over her, whispering. When the Wind passed she disappeared into the trees. The Wind's tidings had not been good; Blood had been spilled.
And unless something was done – soon – more would be shed.
Needlessly.