The night was cold and damp, and the moon was clearly visible in the Catarian sky. All lights were out in the Palace behind in, and the lush green forest called DurWelda flourished right in front of him. The Magi walked steadily, his steps so light, he was almost floating. He was cloaked in a black, sweeping cape. The velvet lining sheltered him from the night's harsh wind, and biting cold. He stood on the edge of the forest, staring into its dangerous depths. Lifting his hood, he took his first step into the forest.

The ground below him, scattered with plant life, went grey. The undergrowth wilted and fell to the forest floor. All around him, as he walked, the beauty and nature of the forest perished. The bark on the trees turned grey, and the moss flaked and floated towards the ground. The leaves that hung from the sturdy branches of the trees lost their colour, shriveled, and fell. The bushes withered at his touch, and his mere thought.

As the Magi ventured further into the forest, the stream he walked beside grew still. The water ceased to flow, and the chirping nocturnal birds ceased to sing. The moon passed behind dull grey clouds and the stars that graced the sky grew dim.

The screeching sound of perishing animals and wildlife pierced the nighttime air. Does and their fawns fell to the ground, dying beside each other. Squirrels fell from tree branches, dead, and the Magi basked in the stench of death.

A shadow of a smile graced his lips, and he bared gleaming white teeth. He raised his hands to the night sky, and felt the power surge through his veins. His deed was done.

"Let us see how she will cope with this," he thought to himself, as he fled the now dead forest, and back into the open.