The First War of Power, pt 1

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


The two sides met, one coming from stone huts and arbitrary rules, the other from ravaged forests, a smoky sky, and angry rivers thick with debris. Male and female stood together on both sides, shifting nervously. A meeting this size was unprecedented. Many of those on the left wore the hardness of the recently discovered second skin, an ugly yellow-ish brown like aging bruises. Beneath this unnatural thing, or in some cases, instead of it, were soft folds of cloth stained with reds, browns, and oranges stolen from the earth itself. Most on the right were naked, though some had skins and furs, byproducts of the sacred food.

A man, strong and broad, stepped forward. “It needn't have to be this way!”

A woman, night-dark and curvy, snarled and thunder above broke with her pain. “Mere words. On every side your cities swell and overspill into our lands in violation of the Peace. And when we defend our territory, you come like cowards in threes and fours to hunt down one of ours. Hear me now. There is no Peace!”


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