A soft creaking echoed through the forest, like a song being hummed by the deadened branches of old oak trees. Moonlight cut through the darkness like a sharpened stick through steel, as if it was being doused as soon as it sprung up. In this dim light the bark of the trees looked gray and alive, the swaying back and forth giving them eerie voices with which they used to speak to one another. Rustling in the leaves added to the symphony of crackling branches, whispering incoherently to themselves. The rocky terrain looked as though a mountain had been crushed and thrown about to create boulders stretching the length of the steep slope. Throughout the shadows were decaying bushes, weeds, and patches of grass. No flowers lay on these deserted hills. Nothing of beauty had been seen in this part of the world in many, many years. Life itself had not stepped foot here since the sunset of a day a millenia ago. As it was before, so it is again. All things must come to an end, whether righteous or ill. And tonight, of all the nights before and all the nights to come, has come change.