There was a whisper on the wind. Everyone heard it.

The Southern wind, just before dawn. In the early darkness, it's gust of warmth was the first sign.

“My goats,” Phlebas cried to his neighbor. “They've been stolen!”

The townsfolk could smell it, electric and heavy in the air.

“A shorebird,” Notos whispered, as if speaking too loudly would wake whatever loomed on the edge of their minds. “Its wings were broken. I think it was pushed in by-”

The storm. Its clouds gathered, dark, promising days of rain. Every now and then, lighting arced in its midst.

“The Southern Point of the Teller,” a holy man breathed, though no one knew what he said. “The star- it's gone.”

The sky grew slightly dimmer. Thunder rolled languidly over the fields.

“A stranger came to town,” said a scullery maid to a washer woman. “Just like the tailor warned us.”

The future spooled itself around one moment, thread pulled taught, ready to snap.

“A creature came to town,” said the washer woman to the scullery maid. “Just like the tailor said. With two children-”

“With a bard-”

“With the light of the Sun-”

“With the Prophet-”

“With the heiress-”

The first drops of rain finally touched dry dirt roads. A stranger came to town, and watched the future unspool, and watched the storm.