The Wind

The wind slowly picked up speed, imperceptible to anything but the most sensitive instruments. And to creatures of the forest, but there were none of those left around here. The wind slowly picked up speed, noise becoming louder, but unnoticed by the naked ear. It picked up speed, and slowly, the black, and red, and charred dead leaves began to rustle along with it, pieces from their rigid selves breaking away as they scratched against the ground in arcs and circles, and then slowly, began to fly higher and higher. The wind began to pick up speed, it was neither cool nor hot, it just was. It began to pick up speed, and slowly, from a shrill whistle, it increased in intensity till it was screaming a harsh howl. You could taste the death in its wake. It was not the one that had caused the death. If anything, this wind was late to the party. Yet, it was the most important.

It was not the one that had caused the death and destruction. It was late to the party. Slowly though, it became deadlier than the raging fires, deadlier than the erratic lightning, deadlier than the biblical rains. But it would not seek death like those few had. It had a different purpose.

The wind slowly picked up speed.

It was late to the party.

It was the deadliest.

It took a while, but when it was at its fastest, with no signs of slowing - it would not slow until it was all over - when it was at its fastest, it was a hurricane with no end in sight. Primal. A force of nature. In fact, this was the hurricane that had birthed the others. This was the alpha and the omega. The beginning and the end. And the end was nigh.

The hurricane did not tower wide above and soar high in the skies. It did not spread over miles of land. It did not need to prove anything, to show anything or anyone. It was not competing. It was the first of the primals to return. And like the rest, it had a purpose.

It came at the end.

It was the first to return.

Like the others, it had a purpose.

In the center. In the eye of the storm was what it encircled. The two men sitting at the center did not seem to notice the wind raging all around them. They did not seem to notice that a trench of wind, impenetrable was surrounding them. Any other men would have fainted in their place. They did not. They did not even notice. The shadows around them seemed to grow agitated. Bouncing off the wind like molecules in an ice cube as it was blown upon.

In the center sat two men. They seemed frozen in time. Agewise, they were. Their movements were so fast now that you would not notice they were in fact moving until you paid a great deal of attention, and close attention at that. The board in between them was ragged, there was stone dust on it, and pieces that were barely distinguishable from one another.