The rabid behavior of some men, towards a Garden so carefully planted, has not gone unnoticed. Even now are the golden wings of military flight on the menu of the Angelic Host. They dared also, Father, to harm a Son of Thunder, to sow a whirlwind of fire. Like fingers on a rocky shoal, ”Dread” will their commanders cry out, of this plaga from the cursed sky. Tiny stones at sunset, sent from Goliath’s grasp. 
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