Dorothy Gale lived a simple yet content life with her Aunt Em and Uncle Henry on their modest farm in Kansas. The vast prairies stretched out as far as the eye could see, and the sky often seemed to hold endless promises. The farm itself, though small, was a testament to their hard work and perseverance, providing a humble but steady livelihood.

On a particularly still afternoon, Dorothy sat on the doorstep with her little dog Toto, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. She absently watched the horizon, where a peculiar cloud began to form. Unlike the usual clouds that lazily drifted by, this one seemed to move with purpose, dark and ominous, swirling with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“What is it, Aunt Em?” Dorothy asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of unease. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the menacing cloud that seemed to grow larger by the second.

Aunt Em, a sturdy woman who rarely showed fear, squinted at the horizon. Her usually composed demeanor shifted to one of concern. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking slightly, “It’s a cyclone.”