U. Quill

 A thick smog hung in heavy air, as it enshrouded the city in hazy gloom. Sunlight struggled to break through, casting eerie shadows that danced across the grimy, pollution-stained streets. The city had turned into a massive car park, its streets congested with vehicles. A cacophony of horns assaulted the senses. Along the sidewalks, pedestrians hurried, their faces masked against the thick choking air. This city, once so proud, was now a scene of obliteration, of pollution and devastation, of ruin bought upon it by its own progress. This insidious enemy, this serpent of pollution, which is now slowly attacking the Race of Man – an enemy born of humanity’s own progress and advancements – has reached its peak and will not allow humankind to live in peace.   The serpent of Deforestation slithers across the lands, its venomous fangs sinking deep, draining the green blood of life from the Earth. The forests wither and fall. But appears on this hopeless scene, a beacon of hope;...

It was a bright morning: a day which was both a beginning and an end. The year’s last month met its last day, the first of the next was to see its beginning. In the green lively Jungle of Pashuvan, a pack of wolves gathered to hunt, led by Greyroi – the revered leader, whose skill was no match and who was held in esteem among all the wolves of India. “In the south of this patch of territory, on the borders of this noble pack’s land, is a herd of seven sheep” Greyroi declared “It is clear that these are wild and do not belong to Man. Hence, we are at full liberty to hunt this prey which has so willingly ventured into our hands. And now before we march, remember: the cubs shall not attack. They will only ambush the escaping animal. With the permit of mine, only shall the pack charge. And so, march on, hunt on, O Pack of Pashuvan!” As the wolves surrounded the sheep, and at Greyroi’s signal, attacked them, a voice rang through the air: a voice which belonged to neither the Wolves no...