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Lying in her bed, still as the silver moon, Celia Ryall slept dreamlessly. Her fair skin was chilled by the wind which blew through her open window; the pink transparent curtains twirled as the breeze caressed them. She twitched slightly and her eyes tightened faintly, threatening to open at the slightest disturbance.
Outside, the dark clouds in the sky started to pick up speed as the wind became more powerful. A current of air hummed as it swept along the night sky, gaining momentum as it suddenly plunged down toward the large mansion. It seemed to grow larger as it slammed through Celia’s window and shoved the doors farther open so they slammed against the wall making an ear shattering strike. She gasped and sat up blindly trying to look for the cause of the clamor. Seeing the window and hearing the howling she threw off her covers and stumbled toward the doors and with all her sleepy might she tried to close them.
Her hands lost their grip as another gust pushed through the window and the glass doors knocked against the wall loudly a second time. Angrily she kicked one door.
“Brainless wind, have you no sympathy!?” she yelled out the window. Again she attempted to close the doors just as the wind died completely and she fell against them as they slammed shut. Sighing, she slid down to the floor and curled up, utterly exhausted and fell asleep.

Down the mountain and in the meadow, a small family within the village was having a struggle with the wind also. A man, large and broad was holding his hat on and pointing to his garden as his vest and leggings flapped loudly in the wind. His family was filing out of the house and running to do his bidding.
“Hurry Cordelia, cover the tomatoes!” Duncan Ayelward pointed to a patch of plants that were bent almost to the ground from the strain of the wind. “Timon! You save the flowers and strawberries! Patience, love, help me with the animals.” The small woman nodded and followed her husband to the barn where their chickens, sheep, and horses where strutting, and dancing around nervously.
Duncan noticed that one gate in the large pen was open and his eyes widened in fear. But he calmed as he observed that his animals had not yet noticed their chance of escape…. Yet. He started toward the gate as his wife held on her robe and opened the barn door. He looked back just as she disappeared inside.
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Pead and Nod

The scraggly man stepped one foot into the strange, lively pub. He was thin; his clothes seemed to hang off him like dirty rags. He was smiling a gap-toothed grin and his badly trimmed, curly beard stuck out to one side like he had been sleeping and drooled on it. His eyebrows were bushy and his eyes were huge and dilated. He had been drinking too much rum again.
He stumbled the rest of the way through the door and gave a rather awkward salute to a youth who was cleaning a table that leaned greatly to the left so much that it could be used as a ramp.
Raising his eyebrows the scrawny man swayed because of a sudden dizziness that came over him. He chuckled, he loved the dizzy feeling and he loved this bar. The constantly trilling music made him want to woo a pretty lady.
“Nod!” The old man shouted with happiness.
A middle-aged man sitting at the bar ducked his head and hugged his mug of whiskey close to his chest, trying to become invisible. He had been avoiding the old man and alas, caught at his one and only refuge by a raving lunatic drunk on rum and giddy with life.
“Hey… hey, Nod…” The old man’s scorching hot breath, heavy with the scent of liqueur, seemed to grate along Nod’s neck in little spiny wisps, making his dark hair want to curl in disgust. “You smell funny… like cheese!” The old man howled with laughter at his own joke. Nod shivered and twitched in revulsion.
“You bothersome, putrid, old fool!” Nod hissed and hit the bar with a closed fist.
“Oh,” the old man stopped mid-laugh and seemed to sober a bit. “A little irritable are we?”
Narrowed eyes, Nod stared at a speck on the wall and gritted his teeth. “I was flawlessly fine until you showed up. Aye, now my good temper is spoiled.” He tapped his fingers.
The old man tisked then noticed what Nod had tucked under his arm. He breathed a deep breath and snatched the mug away from him. “Whiskey?!” he squealed slopping some of it onto the ground.
“ Pead, you nincompoop!” Nod snapped. By now half the onlookers in the pub had either left or enjoyed the insulting entertainment. “Dars,” he turned and got the bartender’s attention as the old man carefully placed the mug on the leaning table. “ Pead spilled some fine whiskey just now.” There was a thump and splashing sound followed by a dull thud and a pop. Nod sighed.