We follow the stream of people, along the ancient road. The air is clear, the mists have lifted, we can feel the rays of sunshine on our skin. Sol, our star, is old, perhaps even older than our priests want to admit.
Us, among many, worship Her, and Her daughter Earth, who feed us, keep us alive, against the emptiness of space.
We are Their children, in the flow of time, and we know that when They die, it will be the end of us all.