Good people died that our children may be born in a land which we may permanently call home. We have heard the stories, and seen the graves. But now we are here, and a year ago we were told that this land was ours. Not all milk and honey, but ours.
We share a name for the land, Jericho. When we arrived, it had been reduced to almost nothing. We have made something of that nothing. Now the fields of rocks are fields of crops, planted one at a time. The town thrives where before nothing thrived. Fruit trees bloom where nothing bloomed. Broken buildings have been rebuilt into our homes and we share what we have learnt with each other.
Yes, we have everything now, food, water, shelter, livestock, and most importantly our families — everything. Though for all we have built for ourselves, the problems of the lands have become ours as well. We will train, and we will fight, and we will keep them that way.
Because above all, we are here. Alive. In a land we call “home”.
We believe, my lords, we have said enough already. We will only add that we are doing nothing but our duty. We have endeavoured to serve your people, and now we are prepared to suffer for them.
– The Peasantry of Jericho
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Do you hear the whispering? The whispering is near.
If you hear the whispering, then turn away your ear.
Do not hear the whispering, whatever else you do.
For once you’ve heard the whispering, it will come for you.