The fire crackled and hissed under the endless starry night. The Elder circled it, predatory, unafraid, looking for his perfect moment.
Then at once, his arms spread wide, casting a shadow of a ferocious monster into the trees. “Lo! They did come!” He began, intoning the words of the Great Story.
“Across the endless sea of land they did come, perfect machines of death. Mechs and crawlers of near-divine make! Their victory all but absolute.”
He lowered his arms and his tone. “And at first they were unstoppable. Sweeping away all in their path.”
A smile crept across his lips, and a murmur went through the tribe.
“They thought we, we paltry, we dirty, we nothing, would be the same.”
He thrust his walking stick into the ground, and drew out a long line in the dirt.
“But we were not the same. We were something different. We would not let them cross our line, our river, our Mississippi.”
He pushed the hood back from his face, looking his tribesmen in their eyes.
“And now what do they all say? The poor? The downtrodden? The forgotten? They say, ‘Look to the Mississippi! The line that shall not be crossed!’”
So, yeah, maybe this one’s just a tad be influenced by the Grizzlies winning tonight. Just a tad.