The ruins of San Venganza glowed orange in the setting sun. A strong breeze blew across the sand, stirring it into dusty whirlwinds that took on a life of their own. Grain by grain, the fallen angel Gressil materialized until he stood in the center of the crumbling old town, brushing the dirt from his coat sleeve. A useless gesture. Beside him the wind elemental Abigor resolved himself from his misty form, and gazed around with his breeze-streaked eyes. “Where’s Wallow?”
Story Notes:Written circa 2008.