Where the tips of the dying trees meet the clear blue sky, life stops and breath begins. Crumbling with root rot from the mechanical drones sent in to manufacture new, moderated, considered death, the trees are toppled one by one. Soon. A block grey building will stand in their stead, and the sky will still be blue, so blue. Only the wind chime sounded. Rachael, then twelve, stood in the empty village square. The gentle breeze, twisted itself around her ankles in an effort to un-root her from the spot she had so carefully chosen. Her people had been searching for this exact spot for millennia, its location, hidden, was only ever whispered, quietly so quietly by the constant wind. Some times it shouted with all its might, whipping up a storm so intense it defied gravity flinging everything into its belly, but mostly so quiet, it hid its secret in a gentle caress. Rachel, made by the wind, could not hide from it, or it from her. And so she stood in the village square, waiting, drenched in silence, as the wind gathered all of its forces on the outskirts of the centre of the world.

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