The year is divided into fourteen months of twenty-one days—two hundred ninety-four days in total. Astrologers call this number harmonious; I see in it an attempt to find order in the chaos of existence. This rhythm, beaten by the change of seasons, has ingrained itself into the flesh of existence, becoming the heartbeat of the world.
For beastfolk, years fly by faster—their life boils, as if afraid not to make it in time. Elves hardly notice time: our year is a week to them. Maybe time is a mirror of the soul? For us, it's convenient, practical, like a well-tailored cloak.
The world is vast—bigger than you can imagine from four walls. Horizons stretch to the edge of the sky, and the sky hangs high, suspended on threads of stars. For all its immensity, life here flows easily: childhood gently yields to maturity, then comes wise old age. Each year is a whole microcosm: you have time to understand, learn, change.
The culture of other peoples beckons with an inaccessible melody. I want to see countries where the sky is a different shade, breathe their air, hear their songs. Elves live in amazing harmony—different tribes, but not a single war among themselves. Maybe it's the longevity? When you live thousands of years, you understand the senselessness of strife.
Beastfolk inspire with simplicity: they plow the land, grow the best tea in the world, trade honestly. Why can't we humans do the same? Not fight for a patch of land, but negotiate, build, and grow?
I wouldn't want to fight at all. Conquer, spill blood—why? I dream of becoming a gardener—growing what ends up on ordinary people's tables. See how from a tiny seed grows something big and beautiful. Feed instead of kill. Create instead of destroy.
The world needs those who will protect from those who want to take by force. Paradox: to live peacefully, you need to be ready for war. Sometimes it seems—if not for human ambitions, everyone would live in harmony. We are like an ailment in the world's organism: we capture, destroy, remake for ourselves.
Amazing: if we wish, we can understand each other. Not just translate words, but truly feel what the speaker in another language is thinking. But understanding is one thing, and the desire to understand is another. Most prefer to swing a sword.