At five o’clock in the heat of the volcano Ploay walks upon the ash covered earth. The scenery was rather terrible, everything near the rumbling volcano was dead. As if the slightest touch to any of the small burnt trees would turn them into nothing but an ash pile. Taking small and almost staggering steps, the archangel sat down on a small, smooth, rock. Ploay was wandering around the lands of Arda again. And this was the first time she as met the volcano. Tilting her head to face the volcano, she felt a rumble that seemed to come all the way down to where her feet were placed of the floor. Before the archangel could do anything, she felt a burning pain at her feet as her eyes bestowed upon a geyser of flames. Tears of pain rolled out as she screeched from the fire. Rolling on her side, the archangel was on her knees with both her feet a blaze. Taking clumps of ash and black dirt, Ploay patted her feet continuously. Soon the fire died and so did the geyser, I have to be more careful here, Ploay thought as she whipped her tears away with her dirty hand. The black dirt almost made Ploay look like she had a leather mask over her eyes.