The Bishop, spiritual and temporal leader of the people, was constrained to personally confirm the scout's fantastic claims. The Poisoned Lands had been tainted and devoid of life for ten generations. To swear otherwise was heresy!
It lay on rocky terrain where it had no right to be. A thin tendril stretched out in a noble attempt to root and spread its promise of rebirth. Such was unthinkable. It would irreparably undermine the power of the Clergy.
The crunch as his heavy boot crushed the seedling seemed so small while the echoes of what he had done would be far-reaching indeed.