The land was sinking in the blood of its people
The land was wailing for their lost souls
Burdened with a thousand swollen corpses
The boy stood fixated on the vision he’d seen several times before
The land wailed louder and louder each time
“You’ve got to believe me, mother.” He uttered in his half-trance state.
“Priest, please cure my son.”
“He is not sick.”