Old and New

They ate fish and fowl, caught and killed that morning. They slept in caves and under the stars. They built fires, and danced around them singing, their voices rising, becoming the stars overhead. They climbed mountains, swam across rivers, moved swift through forest floors covered in fallen needles and others choked with undergrowth.

They buried their gods under cities of stone and steel. For their own protection, they said. Where no one can harm them, they said. They built towers, to rise above the moans and cries they heard coming from below, and so they could take over the heavens.



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