Ohhh...it hurts...so...much.

Player: "What pains you, noble Elim?"

The contaminated...Swamp Moskies...slough off...powder from their...wings.

It is...poison...to the ground...to plants...to us.

Will not...someone...kill the...poisoners and relieve...our pain?

Player: Accept.

You...are so kind...Daeva...to serve as...the blade that...prunes this...diseased forest.

Player: "Anything to help the Elim."

The poison...burns in...my roots.

Player: "It should clear up soon."

It pains me...to see the...Moskies...dead. Once they...flitted about...our leaves...in the sunlight.

But it...pained me more...to have them...alive.