Change The undecaphants first recognised its coming, with their finely tuned senses they picked up on the micro lumen flux taking place above them, they swung their faceted heads in broad sweeps and uttered low moans of fear. The undecaphants lived in the valley bottom but the sound of their frightened lowing carried up the green slopes and the picawrens that bustled and rushed in the treetops stopped their chitter chatter, they paused their constant flight and noise, and, heads cocked all to one side, they listened. It began as a low sussuration emanating from the rapidly brightening lumen flux. The sussuration grew to an uluating, roaring wave of Doppler projected noise and now a black speck could be seen in the midst of the brightness. The undecaphants were panicked, they ran in circles, in strait lines, took random angled turns and all the time they raised their trunks and trumpeted their fear and distress, adding their own racket to the tumult coming from above. Some tried to climb the valley walls, tearing huge chunks of avogadro moss and soil with their feet, some few plunged into the river which was now foaming and rushing in its channel, pulling loose the reeds and the nests of the webergeese they held. The black speck grew to the shape of a bird, a large fowl, a vast creature with sharp angled slowly flapping wings. So bright was the lumen flux that the remaining undecaphants were blinded. Pascalmoles pushed to the surface as the chaos of the bird's approach fatally altered the geometry of their sub surface homes. The picawrens dropped out of the air as a huge mag wave slammed down the valley, disorientated and lost they huddled on the ground and awaited their fate. The bird with its sphere of light passed down the valley and in its wake it brought chaos and change. The river boiled and leapt, then froze into pinnacles, sheets and spears. The leviathan undecaphants regressed, legs shearing away, bodies narrowing and lengthening, a million years reversed in a second, and it took many seconds for the bird to fly over. The new triaphants flapped uselessly at the ground, their vast bodies already suffering without water to support them. With dull thumps, the pasclmoles imploded, the soil pocked downwards where those that had not yet made the surface died in their lairs, the bird opened its beak and snapped at the glowing clouds of joules they left behind. It passed down the valley and the roar of its flight deepened and shook the trees. In its wake everything had altered. The soft green meadows were now harsh plateaus of angular basalt, where the forest had breathed now stood spires of twisted geometry painful to the eye and mind. The picawrens remained, but they half turned, and half turned again and did not stand where they began and their chittering talk was now a discomforting shriek. All in the valley had changed, the picawrens began to feast on the still living flesh of the triaphants who writhed in a duality of agony on the newly grown coulomb grass, the realms of the pascalmoles continued to collapse creating fractured sinkholes with violent primed edges. All in the valley had changed and it would never return to the old ways, for such was the terrible passing of the isosceles triangle bird of doom.