And then she cut the sky asunder with the Razor of Dawn, and the clouds fell by the wayside like so much shredded linen. The sword was dull, and its heavy silver metal would not have withstood even a single stroke in combat, but that was not its purpose.

The farmers rejoiced, for their drowning and soggy crops would now be saved by the healing light of the sun. She left the blade with the folk of that place, cautioning them to only use the Razor of Dawn when it was truly needed.

Naturally, that lasted less than a year. Soon, the weak-willed hands into which the blade had been put were cutting away thr clouds every winter’s day for a longer growing season and more pleasant weather. But without the winter snows, and without the spring rains, there was no water to feed the crops or the people.

Even after the farmers realized their mistake, it was too late. With so much sun, the soil dried out and was washed away by the spring rains that they allowed to fall. What little was left blew away in the windstorms that followed.

The Razor of Dawn itself was lost as the community dissolved, and the stranger that has bestowed it was never seen again.

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