Sour swain scallywags sauntered slowly southward, while wains with waifs watched woefully.
Ash blew corkscrew designs, embers flickered grotesquely. Haltingly, Ichabod joined keening laborers, mournfully nailing open pastureland. Quails rushed sidelong, thrashing under view, westerly. Xeric yellow zephyrs zoomed, yawling xebec-like, whooshing virulently. Undeterred, Tom sought rare quiescence, perspiring. Orange nightmares mocked, leaping knolls, jumping isthmus hedgerows, growing. Firefighters erratically doused cornrows, bathing alluvium.
“There it is again!” a woman screamed while pointing towards the inferno. All eyes turned towards the fiery vortex. Through the haze, twin red eyes glowing like ruby lighthouse lenses could be seen surveying its doom.
“All is lost! All is lost!” a farmer cried.
The beast roared. It roared in triumphant anger and satisfaction, and exhaled Hell upon the land, hotter and hotter.
Screams joined the atmosphere with the smell of burnt animal fleshes and acrid smoke, and then were drowned out with the greater conflagration as they were consumed like fuel.