There once was a tribe of Germani who decided the grass was greener on the other side of the river. So they pulled up their tent stakes, forded the river, and kicked out the weaklings on that lush grass to make it their own.
Life was good.
Then the weaklings came back, leading hard little men in iron shirts. They tried to eject us from the lush grass and heave us back into the forest on the other side of the river.
They did it, too.
But we shall return. Our cows give lots of milk after gorging on that grass.
[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 02-04-2023 @ 12:59 PM).]