A village was once plagued by constant storms, swarms of locusts, and bandits harrying the fringes. Now an idol in the heart of town wards away the old travails, bringing good harvests and peace. All it asks for is the heart of a child once a year… -- Deathshead419
They had taken to sheltering in the caves when the worst of the weather hit. Huddled close to each other with any animals that had also done so. What crops had survived the locusts, the drought, and the fire would be torn from their fields, but they would be alive.
Every time they prepared to leave for better lands, the storms destroyed their boats as well as everything else they had made.
All they had for faith was the belief that the storm had to end, and even that grew weaker as hours grew into days. One day. Two. Half of three, and the howling weather finally waned enough for the adults to scurry forth and find any surviving sustenance. There was something off about killing creatures you shared shelter with in order to survive.
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