Nature calls. The chimes of the bells as the harvest is brought in. The whispers of the garden as the flowers turn to face the sun. The gentle falling of leaves as autumn ends. The churning of the sea, powerful and mysterious. The whistling winds, traveling across the valley. And the blazing sun, granting life to those who live under its watchful eye.

The dirt sifts through his fingers. 'Mother does not like you.' Soundless lightning ravages the sky above. His gaze travels upwards before falling back down. 'Father thinks you are ugly.'

From the harvest, a bounty. The gift of rejuvenation and healing, of life and celebration. With the very fruits of summer itself as their catalyst, their lives remain fulfilled and bountiful. Their hides tough and unrelenting. Their spirits covered in brambles, guarding them from harm. And their hands guided by the monotony of the harvest, striking swift and true with every blow.

From the garden, love. Love for the plants which they grow, and love returned from those same plants. The cycle of life embodied within those leaves. The strength of nature itself, embodied within their souls. Lose yourself amongst the endless love of a mother, a gardener, and die knowing you will be helpful to the rest.

From autumn, decay. Falling leaves burning with envy, with the wilting desires that linger after summer. Everything dies and rottens. None can stop the encroaching death, the end. Know the pain of necrosis, the slow death of a thousand leaves...know pain. Know what it means to be alive. And know that it ends.

From the rivers and those who dwell within it, wisdom. Wisdom which guides their strikes, which makes them smolder with the ocean storm's very essence, which shatters and stuns those who stand in its way. Drown under the ebbbing flow, and return to what you emerged from.

From the wind, power. Wind as an ally, wind as a weapon, wind as its purest form, and wind within oneself. Those who stand in their way will be broken, eroded away, and shattered. And those who stand by the wind's side take care, for nothing is truly safe from its wrath.

And then from the sun itself, life. The power to take it, to create it, to manipulate it, to burn it away. To let all under its gaze sear away or be seared, as the blinding sun descends to judge us all.

Amongst those who call upon their own power, there are the black sheep. Those who call upon the power of the land, the sky, the sea. Dwelling amongst the one place safe to civilization, they are the Mountain Dwellers.

And should there be threats to their mother, their father, their family...then none will stand in their way, for vengeance is a dish which even nature takes part in.