In the First Age, someone is fleeing. She's a Terrestrial -- a fire type. Her Exaltation so noble and proud. But no passion runs in her face now, only fear, despair, a black pit of the soul from which she runs. The forest around her is dark, hot jungle plants brushing aside as she charges past them. She stumbles, her essence expended, her hands and knees bleeding, but she likes the darkness. The darkness means she's alone, means she might have gotten away. In the first age, the Terrestrial weeps.