I believe I have devined some oracle posts, from when the observers of dreams were still young. Perhaps they still are.
THE PROPHECY
The scriptures, timeless as they are, spoke of a time long gone, in the ancient land.
There was a river, not big enough to be seen on any map, but not small enough to not need a bridge for crossing.
A pack of nomades came upon the bridge, where a man stood.
He had empty eyes, yet they understood the implications of his posture. Crossing the river came at a price.
The nomades carried many valuable objects, with many different uses, but the man rejected their offerings.
They tried to barter with the man, however he did not yield.
Growing aggrevated and hopeless, the nomades only had their rage left, and began yelling, nothing in particular, in the face of the unmoving man.
Shifting his gaze to them, a smile now danced across that haunting visage.
He said to them, that the toll has been paid, and they could pass. And so they did, bringing all their riches with them, except for one.
Their dignity.
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