Take the long way home...

Quiet is the eve in this old town Shadows grow long and echoes far Gone is the frantic hammering of blacksmiths Fletchers do not sharpen arrow tips Quiet is the eve in this old town done are many battles, the fallen burned spells are collected, troops asleep Bright is the full moon on elves and humans Songs are being sung in undertones Still we remember the tension growing Still we remember the cries of war Bright is the full moon and quiet we are But we will rise again, and shine in gold To the new ones and those gone I raise my flagon of tears and I bow

 A themed, timed writing exercise. Everyone wrote down 5 traits of their culture and exchanged notes. I picked these from the pile: - Know too much about each other and have our noses in people's business; - Hospitable, giving, helpful; - Reserved/not open to different people; - Everyone knows what's cooking; - Don't know how to enjoy silence/may think of it as offensive The first prompt with these traits was: “Write about how this culture came to be.’’ It's a matter of windows. And eyes are windows on the soul. Ours were all blue. Yes, it is a matter of windows. When there's not a lot of sun, you need to make them wide, and can't afford covering them with curtains. Our people came to this valley seeking refuge from persecution, and the tall mountains surrounding it gave us the right shelter, and little daylight. So looking into each other's home is normal, and smelling each other's cooking too, and commenting on it, of course. There's always this fe