The clouds part revealing a dusky gray and pink sunset. The smell of blood and iron and smoke are in the air but all is still. In the fading light a peasant stumbles over to you and unwraps a beautiful gift from the folds of their cloak and extends her arms as if to give it to you. “I made this…”, she says softly.
You take this marvel and raise it high with both hands into the last sunbeam and brilliant light shines and sparkles, a beacon for everyone near and far. In a clear and confidant voice you declare: “I made this!”
The clouds part revealing a dusky gray and pink sunset. The smell of blood and iron and smoke are in the air but all is still. In the fading light a peasant stumbles over to you and unwraps a beautiful gift from the folds of their cloak and extends her arms as if to give it to you. “I made this…”, she says softly.
You take this marvel and raise it high with both hands into the last sunbeam and brilliant light shines and sparkles, a beacon for everyone near and far. In a clear and confidant voice you declare: “I made this!”
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