The call went out for a volunteer. For someone in the camp to go out and try to reason with it. The few remaining wisewomen had worked out how to communicate with it.
He'd lost his wives, his children, to it. But he had no desire for vengeance or revenge. He just wanted to end the suffering.
So he volunteered. He took the magical horn, and walked into into the swirling mists of it.
Hours passed.
The mists dissipated, leaving remains of him behind.
He was to be given an honorable funeral, but then the remains moved on their own.
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