The Sentinels i send my scourge, i send my sword

a nightmare. a horrible nightmare. where her treasures died, and more than just one; for first it was her flowers, and then, she looked into the starved faces of those she loved. and when she awoke, that nightmarish premonition was forgotten! the trees and their leaves whispered their greeting to the cub, and she weaved among them, adoring them, her eyes bright as she moved to inspect her garden. intact, beautiful! a breath of relief, for a reason she did not think to recall, before she moved to bury herself among them. hello, my treasures! she spoke with glee, nuzzling them softly, tenderly, so that they would not lose even a petal from the gentleness of her touch! a loud droning hum could be heard, the likes of which the young cub had never heard, but she knew now that she did not know many things—

and when she turned around, she watched the redwood be devoured to nothing but wood. her muzzle parted as she fathomed she heard the screams of the trees, and the flowers behind her quavered. no! leave donnelaith alone! by th— too late, for they had descended upon her beloved flowers, rending them to nothing, and she felt them all around her. NO! she shouted, NO! for they left nothing behind, not even their stems, and deirdre, over the beat of wings and the screams of the trees, could not even hear the howl of her father. her protectors, her friends! deirdre lay crouched o'er any flowers her body could protect, which was a truly small, pathetic number, and if she could save them who knew? but she must try! her visage was assaulted by the crawling insects, and deirdre whined and whimpered without knowing what it was she must do to save the things she loved, and who loved her.