Editing Leaving the Moathouse

Xolotl’s mind is instantly and completely overwhelmed by a vision of a tree more massive than any he has ever known or heard tell of, in life or legend.  As his mind’s eye gradually widens its aperture, he is left feeling like he is floating free in the warm embrace of the air directly over the centre of the mighty tree. It dominates a hill that lifts it above the canopy of a vast forest that spreads to the horizon in all directions, a gentle wind rustling the leaves on an otherwise bright and clear sunny day.  Mighty rivers drift lazily through the forest, catching his attention and drawing his eye as the sun glints from the water.  As his vision is drawn across the forest canopy, he spots many clearings in which small settlements have sprung up, visible at range from the pure white smoke drifting idly from cooking fires contained within neat stone circles.
His only sense of scale comes from humanoids, human he assumes, barely discernible in the shelter of the massive tree, and a mighty dragon flying lazy circles overhead.  By comparison to the humans, the tree must stand at least 1000’ tall, with a crown as broad as it is high, ruling majestically over the calm land and abundant life below.  The crown of the tree is literally bejewelled with multi-coloured fruits of precious stone, each at least the size of a clenched fist.  The scene is idyllic and Xolotl can’t help but be filled by an inner peace.  Although nothing like his homeland, there is a sense of home in the aura of the tree, which he comes to realise has a power similar in nature to his Grandfather’s but on a scale infinitely more immense.
Although he has no sense of time passing, the blissful idyll is short-lived, shattered by a cacophony of sound, a chaotic invasion of such force that it rips the land apart, deep wounds in the ground swallowing vast swathes of forest as fire bursts from deep under the surface, setting flames dancing wildly across the canopy.  Under a sky suddenly darkened by swirling storm clouds and ripped through with lightning, fire and earth consume the forest, choking the life out of the land in thick clouds of smoke and ash.  Clouds so thick that eventually Xolotl’s vision is obscured completely.
...
Although only minutes pass in his mind, a vision of utter ruin emerges as the smoke and ash gradually recede.  The mighty forest is all but gone and the vast plain is now ripped, torn and buckled.  Lifeless hills have risen from the ruined ground to claim dominance over the now mostly lifeless lands; lands that are themselves trapped within a circular fortress whose walls are a seemingly endless line of mountains, each many times higher than the majestic tree that had previously ruled this land.  Small pockets of ash-stained forest provide the only sanctuary for what little life remains in the lands below.  The mighty rivers are gone, the only glint of water that Xolotl can see is far to the south.  Looking straight down, the Tree is no longer crowned, devoid of all foliage, its branches collapsing into dusty ash, consumed from within as he watches helpless and unable to act.  The precious stone fruits are cracked and lost, save for eight that somehow survived.  Even as he watches, they fall in turn to the earth beneath the tree, landing in an almost perfect circle.
...
His vision blurs again, the shape of the land is unchanged, a chaotic jumble of earth and water with sporadic signs of life struggling to scratch out sanctuary in the wilderness, no obvious pattern to their wild scattering across the land.  Small streams once again flow up from the distant south; shadows of their former glory, they nonetheless bring sustenance and life to the once parched land.  Where the tree had once rested like a Lord upon his throne, a ruined stone temple sits atop a hill on a small island guarded by a protective girdle of water.  One by one, points of light emerge in a circular pattern in the centre of the temple ruins.  As the first light brightens into life, so a small sapling breaks free of the stone floor of the temple, four tiny cracks splitting from the centre.  Xolotl watches the sapling thrust rapidly towards the heavens above, fed by an unseen water source deep below and caressed by a gentle breeze.  With each additional light, the tree grows in stature, a mighty crown breaking free of the top of the stone temple when the fourth light appears; each of the first four lights perfectly aligned with the star patterns of the cracks in the stone.  More lights continue to appear around the circumference of a near perfect circle until, with six in place, the tree already towers a hundred feet over the ground below.  As the eighth appears, all the lights lift from the floor below, revealing their true nature as brightly glowing intricately cut gemstones – no longer trapped in the stone.  Lifted by the unseen hands of air, they return once more to the crown of the now 500’ tall tree, completing its reclaimed dominance of the land beneath.  Although he can’t see the roots, Xolotl can sense the divine essence in the water that sustains them.