Maybe it was just a trick of the wind, he thought. There’s been no water for the past moon, and most of the brush is dry; yes, just a trick of the wind. He bent his neck to try and salvage any tender green shoots from the barren field. The dead grass crackled under his hooves with each slow step. But he heard more crackling when he stopped. Turning his graceful head over his shoulder, he beheld a small stampede of rabbits charging out of the nearby forest, followed by various other animals, all chattering wildly about the same thing: No home! Don’t go back! Fire!