The boy looked out over the fields, trying to ignore the pain that the sight thrust into his gut. The valley was waving its browning grass, the swishing fronds sending a low whisper through the air. A silver river trickled calm and cool from the mountains, pooling at the base of the hill. Broad and wide, the valley stretched for miles. The air was damp, and a chill hung over the land. The boy watched as the sun set, field beginning to glow with oranges and reds. The whole world was on fire from the hill where he stood, sun piercing the fog and turning the grass golden. But slowly, the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the valley was swallowed once more in the misty cold. Grasses and reeds continued to shift and whisper with the wind, but their colors grayed under the fading light until the ground was one, dark, hissing blanket. As much as the boy wished for the sun to return, it stayed hidden behind the rim of the valley. He was alone again until dawn.