Oak Fractured by Lightning, Maxim Vorobiev | Wikimedia Commons
The hills bled this morning.
We never saw them coming. They came out of nowhere, mounting horses faster than the wind, their curved swords cutting the air itself.
They ransacked our homes, took our women and children, and burned the rest to the ground.
The few men who survived organized a counterattack with whatever weapons they could muster.
Fools. The raiders turned them into minced meat.
Only I survived.
I went to our praying grounds, searching for an answer to such an injustice.
The heavens answered me with thunder. A hammer fell from the skies.
The hills will bleed again.