Under the weeping moon.
It came in the night. They never expected a thing. Even after the second set of screams hardly anyone had awoken. It seemed to have no feeling. It harvested them the way they had taken its home away, the trees that fell were like the limbs that now littered the ground. It was killing and eating children and women. Men and hunters. They all fell in the same bloody pile of nothingness. When the sun rose in the east the cold dead eyes lay open in the streets and those same blackened eyes stared at the last of the last. Blood still flowed down the cracks in the cement and ran through the dirt alost like it had just rained. The site would make a war hero vomit, and still people emerged from their homes to see what had become of their precious town.
All of those that could stomach the gruesome horrors that lay in front of them could tell that this was not just some raid. Nor was it the work of any civilised culture. There were no bodies of enemies to be found and yet none of the dead had any type of clean cuts. No, the bodies were torn to bits and pieces were strewn everywhere. The people had never seen anything of the likes of this before. They had never even gone through any type of catastrophe. No, only the wayward lives of merchants and farmers and farmer merchants.
The survivers counted nine.
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