The Start of a War

Sicker skies used to fly my way.
Burl of death safely cocked away.

The village spanned out, breaking away from the market.
Kicked up dust swam through the streets, and on today, even the alleyways.
Swirling clouds runaway overhead.
Casting a cocktail of dull and bright weather.

Traders and townsfolk scuttle along to the beat of their own business.
Fishermen chop up salmon next to oxen ready for a weeks journey.
Drunkards recall stories as children glide through the crowd laughing all the same.
Creating a steady murmur booming throughout the walls.

Yet, the wind's silent howl gives birth to the flight of the winged beast.
Soaring into the fog above, creating a howl of it's very own.
Through the depths of the sunset, the village glows brighter.
As Death is brewed in the belly, a town made of ice is soon to melt.

...