They watched as his skin fell off his skin like butter, his cries ment nothing to them. A child had disappeared from small village and he was wrongly blamed for the horrible crime. He pleaded as they stared unboxing at his sorrowful eyes. When they had seen what was thought to be hlas final dying breath, the opened the tall furnace to let it cool, so they could collect his horribly burnt body. He was not dead, not even close. He awoke the next day, eyes burning white with rage as he swiftly ran for the deep forest only to return when he had healed. Three days went by, and the furnace was finally cool to the touch. They starred at the empty metal canaster that should hold the new fugitive's body. They starred in silence, stunned, scarred, and dumbfounded. They were now on lock down, every testificate their home, when the the hurricane came. It tore through the small village like a child running through a field of grass. They screamed for there blown away loved ones, pets, and possessions. Herobrine laughed with glee at the suffering of the villagers. He ran for the woods in the direction of a nearby village...