the emissary (or a love letter from Hobbes).1

A thousand years.

For such a long time.

A thousand years...

Or more.

A still place.

A settled state.

Crimson skies hid away from...

Hopeful eyes.

These were left unto the others...

The one's over...

There...

So that we could dream and...

Hope.

And we did.

That is, until...

The emissary came...

And then...

Everything changed.

For better or worse, we are here together.

That's what the Magistrate used to tell us.

"We are aware of the ongoing conflict and conflagration that exists in seeming perpetuity beyond the wall.

We are aware of all of it...

We simply want nothing to do with...

Any...

Of...

It."

Year after year...

A thousand years or...

More...

We said the same thing.

Amid the din in the distance...

Beyond the wall.

Sitting alone in the desert...

Dreaming and hoping of...

Sustainability without...

Sacrifice beyond...

Palatable measures.

But what is that?

What has it ever...

Been?

Crimson skies on the horizon...

Do not...

Touch us...

Here.

Unless...

The emissary awakened to a circle of faces peering down at him.

They...

We...

Wanted to know who he was...

What he...

Wanted.

The elders of our state poked him and prodded...

Him...

Crimson skies carry the truth of everything.

Sky carries truth over...

Walls.

In the distance there is conflict and...

Conflagration.