Go and play. Run around. Build something. Break something. Climb a tree. Get dirty. Get in some trouble. Have some fun.
There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.
Men who fear demons see demons everywhere.
That's the spirit, one part brave, three parts fool.
Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.
Everything comes with a price. Everything. Some things just cost more than others.
If you don't learn to laugh at life it'll surely kill you, that I know.
Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?
Don't let them win. Don't let them beat you. Don't let them steal your magic.
But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people?
Men-kind shared this world for but a blink, then, sadly, they became enlightened, found science and religion. The new world of men left little room for magic or the magical creatures of old. Earth’s first children were driven into the shadows by flame and cold iron, by man’s insatiable need of conquest.
My tale doesn't end there, for the end has yet to be written.
Demon or not, it didn't matter, suffering was everywhere he looked.
Peter's face clouded. "Everything comes at a price. Or have you not learned that yet?
Both sides so blinded by their fear and hate of each other that they couldn't see they were all fighting for the same thing.
Your dreams are your spirit, your soul and without them your are dead. You must guard your dreams always. Always. Lest someone steal them away from you. I know what it is to have your dreams stolen. I know what it is to be dead. Guard your dreams. Always guard your dreams.
And may God be merciful, because these twisted men will not.
But Peter had seen too much, knew too well that men-kind didn't need an excuse to be cruel and murder one another.
Christians. They’re determined to rid the land of any who worship the Horned One. Murdering all the druids, burning the temples, sometimes whole villages, and knocking over the standing stones.” The Lady’s face hardened. “This god of peace and love certainly likes to bathe the land in blood.
For Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.
There is always something left to lose.
Peter stood up and let a wicked smile slide across his face. "Time to play.
Did he dare trust this insane boy?
Enough talk," Peter said, and his eyes flashed. "It's time to turn you three into killers.
The boy planted his hands on his hips and a broad smile lit his face. "My name's Peter. Can I play too?
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