If anyone of any feeling had seen the farm that day, their hearts would have cried into oblivion. The crows crowded over the dead fields and the grey sky, silent and sad, hung over the dry, drab furrows in an all-enveloping embrace. Every creature, bar the birds of the dying, had fled as the darkness spread. It was a poison. It pressed against their hides, stinging their lungs, singing their fur, they ran for their lives and towards the fading light.