Thomas Kinkade Christmas Moonlight

Thomas Kinkade Christmas MoonlightThomas Kinkade Christmas EveningThomas Kinkade Abundant Harvest
bumping along in Brutha's pack, began to feel the acute depression that steals over every realist in the presence of an optimist.
The strained strains of Claws of Iron shall Rend the Ungodly faded away. There was a small rockslide, some way off.
"We're alive," said Brutha.
"For now."
"And we're close to home."
"Yes?"
"I saw a wild goat on the rocks back there."
"There's still a lot
"What? They wouldn't last five minutes. It's a god-eat-god world."
"Perhaps that explains something about the nature of gods. Strength is hereditary. Like sin."
His face clouded.
"Except that . . . it isn't. Sin, I mean. I think, perhaps, whenof 'em about.""Goats?""Gods. And the ones we had back there were the puny ones, mind you.""What do you mean?"Om sighed. "It's reasonable, isn't it? Think about it. The stronger ones hang around the edge, where there's prey . . . I mean, people. The weak ones get pushed out to the sandy places, where people hardly ever go-”"The strong gods," said Brutha, thoughtfully. "Gods that know about being strong.""That's right.""Not gods that know what it feels like to be weak . . ." we get back, I shall talk to some people."
"Oh, and they'll listen, will they?"