by Ryan H Bullock
Of the cold Winter leaves that float down from the broken sky, from the Spring Trees charred by war and corruption of its roots. To the vast Summer sands that face the rise of extinction threatening to snuff out their sun. To the land of fallen yet honored names of Autumn. But Faellen the kingdom of autumn, is without its grandson. And this grandson shall set them free from a curse unbeknownst to them. So the hopeful words repeat in screaming minds, while the dark laughter of sorrow and hollow grows ever closer. Of Winter leaves, from spring trees, upon Summer sands, Faellen Stands.
