"A New Beginning"

Shala pushed the long blond strands of hair from her face, blinked twice, and looked around her. Where was she, and God, how long had she been asleep? She stepped forward from a strange violet rock--it was smooth and as flat as the empty horizon now before her. Something about that rock seemed vaguely familiar. Shala squinted at the great, skeletal trees grouped on her left and shuddered at their claw-like branches. Something was wrong, but she just couldn't put a finger on it.
"Oh," she thought aloud. "Those trees should be covered in leaves, it's only the middle of Third Spring!"

It was true, all right. Not a tree existed that would not yield to the Three Springs each year. And now Shala distinctly remembered admiring the trees in their festive green dress before feeling tired and stopping at this rock for a bit of a nap. High in the sky a white-hot sun blazed fiercely, radiating waves of heat at the dead weeds poking out of the cracked soil. What had happened? The d'Ambre Forest now appeared to be a barren desert, and for that to occur overnight, something was dreadfully wrong.

Not knowing what to do but eager to abandon this desolate land, Shala took off into what she hoped was the east. Yes, she recalled silently, home is just over those two hills. Soon I'll have my answer. Yet as the girl strode on the ancient path between the hills, watching her feet to be sure she didn't trip over a protruding root or a passing ankra beetle, a new observation left her feeling very unsettled. It was silence. Her village was always a colorful, bustling town, full of friendly people and musicians whose lively tunes wafted over trees and hills into all the surrounding villages. She loved her village and couldn't wait to return to all the smiling faces, but at the moment only silence was there to greet her.

The last hill fell behind her and the village came into sight. A low moan escaped Shala's dry lips. The village was empty, not a friendly face in sight. Shala slowly dragged her feet through the village gate. As she came closer to her family's cottage, she picked up her feet and began walking. Faster, she moved, until she was almost trotting, and then she broke into a run. Sprinting across the vegetable garden, which had clearly long since died, thanks to that merciless sun, Shala wept. When she arrived at her home, she threw open the little red door with a loud bang. Inside, the tables and chairs were still there, but residing comfortably under a new blanket of dust. She crossed over to the hearth, where a cold black kettle swathed in cobwebs hung over two old logs. Where were her mother and father and brothers? From the collection of dust on everything, you would have thought that no one had lived here for years. Yet all the furniture was still present, from the giant four-poster bed to the bowl of fresh fruit on the table--
"What? Impossible..." Shala breathed, as she made another strange observation. Yesterday, or whenever she had last been home, there were apples and pears filling that wooden bowl to the brim. Now, as she leaned forward and peered closely, one could just barely identify the remains of the fruit; shrunken, shriveled, and covered with mold and dust. "No, that's impossible-- somebody, please, somebody help me!" BLinded by her tears and this frustrating confusion, the girl fled the empty house, her pale yellow skirts flailing behind her.

Unaware of her surroundings now, her head spinning madly at the suggestion of a concept too profound for reality, she stumbled over a rusted wheelbarrow that had been left carelessly in the middle of the road, and crumpled to the ground, sobbing. After a moment, Shala raised her head and looked through dirty tears and an unkempt nest of hair, at the cottage in front of her. When she realized what she was seeing, she choked on her tears and fell forward. A long, gray wisp of smoke uncurled its way up from the cottage's tiny chimney, and through the round pane-glass window in the side of the little home, Shala could see a large, dark figure moving within.

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