Back in ancient days they had many Gods to believe in. Who knows how that came to be. Over time poeople evolved to believe in a just a select few Gods. Some just one. Other still with several. It's not my place to judge who is on the right path. Although, in truth, I know.
I talk to them sometimes and they whisper foul truths in my ear. Like soft oranges stiff with untapped jioce.
If you live past childhood you fight. There are wars to be done. Kingdoms to defend. They can market them as democracies and free repulics. But there are still high prices to be paid.
Soldiers' blood stains many flags.
Wars don't end. They pause. Collect their poor and carry on.
It's a tall ladder slick with ice and bone. It's a small mountain. Thick with kings. It's an eager army ripe with boys. Absent men.
It's a quiet fight. fought with broken flowers and creased maps. So many terrible treasures yet to be claimed.
Seldom armies negotiating with blunt swords.the future like butterflies and matchsticks.