Normally, you'd see long stalks of bright, golden wheat as far as the eye could see. The wild winds of the hilltops blew the tips of the crops, making patterns which never quite made a shape. The sky was a dirty blue-green, mixed from the pollution from factories far away.

Normally, dirty roads split the wheat into fields, dust kicking up constantly from the winds, adding a grit to the air that one could just not avoid. Long automated tractors moved down the path, moving equipment where it needed to go. Most went to a large warehouse for storage or processing.

Normally, the warehouse was a dull grey metallic colour, the sand grit ripping off any sheen it once had. Tall silos surrounded it, full of grain, empty or being filled or emptied. Long pipes connected the silos to the warehouse, hovering in the air or going underground, they all connected to each other.

Normally, there were thousands of people working at this place. Operating machinery, moving crates or supplies and cleaning the facilities were the constant activities that kept the massive farm running. People would come and go at all times seeing as the constant work required shifts running at all times. Sometimes the children of the men and women who worked there would come along and play in the fields before they were harvested by the massive harvester drones.

Normally that was the peaceful life on the Vallière Farmstead.

Normally The place wasn't burnt to the ground.

The fields laid as charred black sheets cut away from each other by the dirt roads that stood as the only thing untouched.

The great silos of grain were torches, still burning brightly as the grain acted as fuel. The warehouse was a ruin, crossbeams blown outwards, most of the roof collapsed with only a few walls remaining to hold what was left.

Death rose above the smell of burnt wheat. The sickening smell of burn flesh was all around. The farmers laid dead mostly where they stood. Almost everyone died instantly from the massive explosion of wheat, and those who didn't died due to lack of air. Children in the fields were blackened corpse, not even able to run far away enough. One worker, presumably working on a higher level of the silos, jumped down to avoid the flames running upwards towards him. He impaled himself on a small fence surrounding the silos. Another person who worked at the conveyor belts leading into the silos somehow got himself caught in the system, which dragged him into the small cleaning and processing shoot. The belt was covered in blood and rags of his clothes.

A man laid dead in one of the pathways, his back burnt to a crisp. His body laid on it's side, and a small patch of the dirt path wasn't touched. A young boy stood there, a small burnt cigar handing from his hands.

He was alive. Around him, the world was dead. The cigar burnt out long ago and burnt the boy's hand, but he took no heed. He stood there, watching the great fires, the distant calls of help, the way the bodies burnt.

Eventually, a rescue crew came to put out the massive fire and help those who were injured. The only one who was found alive was the boy in the path, who never responded calls. One of the crew members fished out the boy's ID card. His name was Pierre LePew, son of one of the workers at the farm. Looking over at the dead man beside the boy, they guessed that to be his father.

The boy was led to a hospital, where he continued to be a mute and not respond to anything. He stared blankly at something far away.

Specialist could do little for the boy, so they gave up almost instantly and left him to a caretaker. His caretaker was an older gentleman who called himself Paul to the boy, though the little mute never responded. Paul made the child's food, clothed him and brought him to places to see if the child might react. After about a year of this, the man adopted the poor soul of Pierre.

On one afternoon, they took a trip to a famous carnival that went throughout the Gallic worlds. At first, the old man found it as useless as any other place they went to. They sat on a bench looking at all the sights infront of them. People jumped around on wires high in the sky, a rickety old thrill ride threw it's screaming passengers around on steel rods, booth operators yelled at the passing crowd to attempt to get them to stop at theirs.

There was a group of men with painted faces and overstuffed shirts with every colour of the rainbow on it. They were fools, clowning around for entertainment of others for the hopes of a donation. One was on long stilts that were covered to make it look as if he had long legs. Another threw fake coins at people that popped in the air with a bang. Another was a attempting to shoot fire out of his mouth.

Now the fire breather was doing the best. He would motion to people to throw items up in the air. Once they would, he would open his charred mouth and liquid fire would spring forth and destroy the item. Whenever this happened the crowd around would cheer.

Paul looked in disgust at the fools, but when looking at the little boy Pierre, he saw that the child was focusing on the odd group preforming before them. Paul got up and brought Pierre closer to the little circle in the roadway the fools claimed as their performance area. The old man looked at Pierre with hope he found the acts interesting, but the boy stared at one person only. The fire breather opened his mouth once more and let out a rush of fire, circling his head to make shapes in the air.

Paul watched the shapes. A crude picture of a clock was made with the smoke that was left from the fire, the time it showed right on the dot. Looking down to see if Pierre was still watching left the old man to find his boy was gone. Looking frantically, he was Pierre had entered the ring of performers. He was right at the foot of the fire breather, looking at a few cans full of a odd liquid.

Paul yelled at the child, but no response was given. The kid picked up two cans, one in each hand, and threw them towards the crowd. The fire breather saw the kid had thrown his oil too late, and the liquid was thrown just high enough for it to lick the fire flowing from the fool's mouth.

Liquid fire fell onto the crowd, screams rose. Burning onlookers began to run towards anything they could in panic. People ran away from the burning onlookers in fear they might catch on fire as well, leaving those who took the blunt of the raining inferno to burn to death.

The fire breather looked on in horror, then looked down at the little man who caused all this. He quickly scooped up the kid and lifted him to his face. With his charred lips, he screamed at the boy for ruining the act and causing the fires. The boy was smiling, something he hadn't done in a long time. Paul looked on and was about to run up to take the child back away from the enraged fool, but the smile stopped him. It wasn't something Pierre has done since he had known the child. The smile was cruel. It was the smile of a kid who just got away with stealing cookies from the jar, or after a bank robber got away after a big heist.

The fool noticed the kids look and questioned the boy about it in a yelling manner. The kid lifted up another can of oil he had picked up after the threw the other two. The fire breather's eyes opened wide. Pierre continued to smile as he lifted the can to the man's face and poured it into and around his mouth.

The micro-lighter hidden below the fire breather's mouth that was used to light the oil that the fool shot from his mouth was still on from before. The oil burst into dancing light that quickly dropped into the charred mouth of the fool. Dropping the boy, the fire breather began to panic as fire leaked from his mouth and nose. He attempted to scream but nothing came out as the fire had already melted his throat. After a few seconds, the fool dropped, the liquid fire springing out of his body after impacting on the ground, covering the area with fire and slowly cooking the dead burning fool.

Paul rushed to the child who stood in the middle of this horror. He snapped at the kid for his actions and Pierre, for the first time, looked at Paul directly in the eyes. The mute boy opened his mouth and spoke in a soft voice.

"Cheval rouges vient à tous."

Red horses comes to all.