Our Native Tongue

Baby King ascended to the throne last October after the death of his mother. We're under attack, it's been like this for months, but the rules are written in a very specific way. They prevent us from executing protective maneuvers of our own volition. Only the King can command a counterattack, but Baby King can't speak yet. So we're bombarded with arrows and large stones on a daily basis whilst Baby King simply crawls and cries. "Waaaaah!" wails Baby King; his shrillness reminds us of the importance of discourse.

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