The thick oak roof of the grain cart sloughed away like wet paper. A single drop of purple rain struck the cobblestones of Harvest Avenue and hissed violently into a cloud of foul smoke. Eamon dropped his wooden crate of apples and looked up at the midday sky. The bright sunlight was gone. A bruised sickly purple hue blanketed the entire valley.
Another drop hit a merchant stall across the street. The canvas awning dissolved in seconds. The corrosive liquid burned straight through the wooden support beams and splashed onto a stack of iron horseshoes. The raw iron began to bubble and pop.
"Acid," Eamon shouted. He grabbed the arm of a terrified baker and pulled the man under the stone archway of the nearest building. "Get off the street. Take cover under stone."
Panic erupted across the
