The yelling. All the yelling.
The land was so fragile, so fraught. Underneath the curses, beneath the desecration of our good work, all fell silent. More silent than normal. The birds hushed. The wind dropped. There was nothing.
Then, beneath your feet, the earth suddenly lurched, seemingly dropping several feet all at once. A great groaning sound replaced the silence. In the lasting snows of the cold, dead winter, the raucous shouting triggered a small avalanche.
Snow and rock plummeted, showering anyone within a small radius. It was short, but profound. If one were still heads above the snow, they would find a large crack in the earth, unearthed. It had been awakened, yawning, and ready to eat.
Would it be fed?