The Fourth Season on the Canyon Wall

The genia tries to fan it with her tail, hoping that some sort of gust of wind is brought. Can I just like blow cold air from my mouth on it? But it runs cold. You know, my hands are really cold. It is genetic disorder, a family self-assurance room. As the imaginary snow collects around the tree, the fourth season on the canyon wall glistens and there's a crack of rock splitting. The canyon slowly splits open, revealing the dark entrance to a temple.