This is a drabble from fief goldenlake, loink is on my profile. The prompt is colour.

Amos looked over his fields, or what were supposed to be fields. They were now a dull brown colour, the colour of drought.

Hunger pangs ground through his stomach, as empty as his fields, and he again cursed the emperor for provoking this sign from the gods. For three years the land had been like this, destroyed just like his livelihood, family and lands. The relief money had gone to help massive armies destroy new lands.

The wind blew across the sand outside the window and he sent up another prayer. That it would land on some nobles gilded plates.