“The mist that fell over the land of Batu wasn’t cool, nor soft, nor light. It wasn’t gentle or ephemeral, evaporating with the rising sun. It was heavy, hot and dark. Oh so very dark. It didn’t drop gently into the valley. It crept and crawled and clawed its way up the mountainside, engulfing plants, enveloping animals and entrapping people. And when children wandered in its way, it slithered down their throats and into their hearts and stole their very souls, leaving only shells. Breathing, motionless shells. Dead yet still alive. And the parents still tended to the children’s silent, empty bodies. And the anguished, agonized bodiless souls of their young cried out every night, trapped in that evil shroud. There was no way around it. No way through it. No way to stop it.”
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