“There ain’t no sky today. I suppose that would be your fault.” The old man stared up into the infinite, flat gray sheet above him. Cold rock bent the wind into howling waves, ruffling his thinning hair and prickling his skin. He knelt down, slowly and carefully, and rubbed his hand along the ground. “The time has not been kind to us, old friend.”

He closed his eyes, and took a deep, crackling breath. The stench of sulfur made him wrinkle his nose. He looked over his shoulder at the peak behind him. A plume of smoke trailed into the sky, like the steaming breath of some stirring creature. “Not much time left. I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together.” A low rumble shook the stone around him, as if responding wearily, and flakes of ash began settling on his worn clothing. He would not leave his home, not even in its death.