Superstition

First, there was the sound.
A keening wail that tore through the air
parting the thick clouds surrounding us.

Then came the cold.
A bite that didn't come from wind or water
but crept up through the earth we clung to,
sinking through our skin.

The villagers we past had warned us of this.
They'd told us that our shoes were too thin
that the weather would not hold against the Guardians.

But we laughed at their superstitions.
Insisted we knew better.
People who'd studies the natural world for years
but had never stepped foot on their land until today.

We weren't prepared for the sight
of many-jointed fingers reaching from empty sky
or the sensation of our feet shattering into icy stumps.

We weren't prepared for the fingers
ripping us from the rockface
and tossing us back down the cliffs.

The viliagers say
it's a miracle we even survived at all.