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Chapter 12 · Version 3.3
1920 · They disappear into the golden grass, returning to the long, hard road they must walk.
And quiet flows the river, and quickly flies the bullet.
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O golden hue, no longer a gift from the Sun, nor a symbol of the harvest.
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The currents converge here.
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A newly emerging darkness covers the land.
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Soldiers. Heads lowered. Lips sealed with orders.
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Accept changing times, as farmers accept the coming of winter.
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They weep for the grain trampled under the boots of friend and foe alike.
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It is simple to denounce the evildoer, and far more difficult to understand them.
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Comrades may be united in loyalty or by other means—hatred will do.
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A worm frozen in resin, its body encased for hundreds of millions of years. Is it the prisoner within this silent amber or a creation of eternity?
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An ancient proclamation arrives at a foreign city's gate, clad in blood and dust.
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Reforge scythe and plow into sword's edge. Let iron learn to leave its sheath. Let our enemy know the taste of hunger.
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Mounting their horses and clenching the reins, young men bid farewell and head to war—a story as old as time.
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The fires of war burn ever nearer. Children of the Don, it's time to unite!
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Feel the moment. Feel your feelings. That's what matters most.
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She understood what the word means.
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These horseshoes aren't yet rusty, lads!
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The warhorse is bridled, waiting for the coming tempest.
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An eagle pierces through the thick black clouds of gunsmoke.
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They take to the saddle because this land raised them.
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They once traveled down the same road.
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The tattered banner still billows in the wind as the first snow falls.
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The hammer of history strikes the anvil, yet the marks it makes will soon be smoothed away.
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After the dust settles, he makes the decision.
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Another bullet bearing another name falls into a tumbling brass bag.
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