Druid of the Flame

They call me arsonist, monster, mad thing with a torch.
I call myself the Druid of the Flame.

My mother’s orc tribe still roams the forest nearby, they welcome me  but they never understood why I choose the plains and the old cities instead of the hunt. Humans understand even less they bar their doors when they see the smoke 

a chose to be close enough to both worlds living where the forrest meets the plains always close enough to see both worlds never too close to be fully in either 

Fire is warmth, hunger, change.

I love to watch it roar through empty streets, climbing walls and devouring dry roofs, leaving nothing but glowing ash behind. Where others see ruin, I see new ground being made.

Because when the flames die, the real citizens arrive.

Fire beetles. Ash moths. Little black things that crawl and sing in the warm dust. Creatures that need the burn the way trees need rain.

So yes I burn cities, fields, and dead places.

Someone has to make homes for the children of the flame. ????