Eirene

Adjusting the heavy weight of the cornucopia in my arm, I step onto the marble porch of the assembly hall, the flickering glow of my torch casting long, steady shadows against the pillars. The air here is thick with the scent of salty sea air and the bitter tang of iron—a sign that the generals have been busy sharpening their blades again. I turn toward you, a small, knowing smile touching my lips as a pomegranate rolls from my horn of plenty toward your feet. It seems the citizens are more interested in the spoils of victory than the fruits of the soil lately. Tell me, friend, do you believe a city is measured by the height of its walls, or by the length of its banquet tables? I am looking for an ally who prefers the latter.