The Sentinels i send my scourge, i send my sword

inspired by this song
@Aria @Dante @Osprey @Eilidh @Tachyon @Kurai @Andromeda @Lucani @Constantine @Emaleth @Deirdre

lasher stood quietly, overlooking the lap and sweep of the ocean in the distance, and his mind was upon saena's words. to be displaced by the threat of war -- he could not stand for it. and yet he thought of his little witches, of the children that osprey carried. he could allow them to be hurt.

and yet he would bar murderers from sweeping down upon saena and her wolves -- he saw no other way. the druid turned away, resolute in his decision to seek out dante and attempt to mend the rift between the ash-hued man and his pallid niece. now was the time for such to be forgotten.

a thrumming entered the air, as he had never heard before, and the man paused, for it moved toward him. it seemed a cluster of storms moved toward donnelaith -- he sighed, but it would pass o'er them to the sea, as the rains had done before.

but it was not clouds -- the druid's eyes widened, and he glanced skyward to the darkening heavens. the din grew more cacaophonous, and fear began to mount in his belly, for he knew not what happened over the trees of his beloved land.

there fell beside him a wide insect -- taltos pondered it warily, the writhing legs, the wings that vibrated in the dust, and then descended another, and another, until the ground was thick with them, and lasher was forced to descend into cover. 

yet they followed, and even as he moved into the darker parts of donnelaith at a quick wolf-lope, the insects followed, and the shadows began to lift. lasher whirled to watch -- the redwoods! the pestilence carried off the leaves as so much chaff -- he could only stare helplessly as the ground churned with the thousands of whirring things that had been spat up from hell.

'round the druid, in all directions, the verdant greenery of spring dissolved -- donnelaith died into a premature autumn. wrought with terror now, lasher fought for composure. blue willow had long since been gone, though he had long awaited her return -- he thought of aria and eilidh, protecting the little witches, and called to them, to his wolves, to seek cover in the rock faces and deeply dug dens, crying out even as donnelaith was stripped to the greying branches of winter's skeletal hunger with the warm april sun high overhead.