Red skies and grey soil part 2
He had found the houses back through the fire and smoke. Rains of embers had marred his fur, his nose and throat stuck with the sharpness of the smoke. The tribe had been kind to take him in despite only a little of the food had been gathered by his hands. The flickering and fluttering fires they had lit had fed on the parched needles and brittle forests, and a raging firestorm had grown out of them. As they hid underground in the stone domes, the inferno washed waves of flame over the roofs. Some days the heat was unbearable in the upper burrows. Thins streams of fine ash eventually came falling though the roof, as the hot winds above blew the fine ashed through the blazing infernos. The days underground were enjoyed by the magmas. Having experienced many of those cycles of flame before, they made a festival of their stay. They made fine meal out of corn and kneaded this in a dough with fruit and juice. This dough was flung at the hot ceilings of the dome, where the heat outside ...
