The sun shines.
The grass blows.
Ponies are walking.
Flowers are blooming.
And the wind, sings.
They would all go on. Unknowing of the destruction and suffering below. The sun would rise and fall day in and day out and pu behind it a curtain of stars painted from a distant galaxy of a world they would never know.
But they would know that the morning wind would feel different.
The rays of light felt cooler.
The warm waters refreshed more, the wind sharper, the winters more bitter. Like a gentle piece of the world had been lost.
They would gather around. They'd watch the gate at the center of town, sealed off since forever.
And they would feel a cool mourning wind, and a siren song call of the dead.