It rips through the forest towards the houses, it tears through the houses towards the church, it sweeps through the church towards the mill, it only hesitates at the river's width. It takes to air on leaf and ember, it wafts up and spins and dances, it circles and descends, it alights and catches and begins burning anew.
It rolls down the hillside, it guts the barn and the stable, it creeps across the yard, it marches through the field furrow by furrow. It begrudges the first drizzled droplets and curses the burgeoning rain. It hisses and spits and sputters and dies.