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Passion at the Mountains

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A lizard cowers in fear.

It tooks to the sun for help, but the sun sinks deeper into the range, orange and black contrasting against each other.

It has abandoned the faithful.

The lizard despairs, and fear leads to anger.

It imagines, for a moment, what it would be like to kill its enemies, to make them feel its fear and pain. To see their bodies broken, their features distorted, their limbs rearranged, their tendons fine strings for an eldritch instrument only a twisted mind could comprehend.

Such is the lizard's imagination, it loses itself in the carnage, and it feels its blood boil and singe with power.

The mountain, whose blood also runs hot, is in sympathy with the lizard, and both are united in a dazzling wrath.

But the thing about wrath it that it clears the mind, like a forest fire cleanses the undergrowth. Thoughts of violence clear, to leave anguished suffering.

Much as there is sympathy between the mountains and the lizard, so there is empathy for the lizard and its enemies.

And so, the lizard comes with a more witty plan: rather than maim its foes, make them think they will be maimed.

And so, at every fire, the lizard's rage becomes a fearsome shadow, that no creatures great or small can help but to fear. From the greatest hydra to the most stalwart angel to the most passionate dragon, all see the violence that would ensue and all take a step back.

Soon, a lizard's cries become wicked snickers.