Charging forth from the forest, the centaur colony moved with unprecedented urgency. The stars had been wrong. The stars had revealed that there was still time. The stars had not foretold such terrors. Perhaps their sage had spoiled and its smoke tampered with?

His flank the color of midnight, the centaur Piritrius approached the stump and gave a look of great disdain at the farm bell. This was what Thereos had submitted himself to? To be summoned like cattle?

"There is no time, Piritrius," insisted another with a coat as warm as a rising sun. "We must leave."

"I must warn him. He is of our own," Piritrius sneered back, swallowing a bit of his pride as he rang the bell in violent frustration. "THEREOS!"