The air was quiet, laden with the cold, heavy presence of death. The shrill cries of carrion birds echoed across the empty field. Twilight cast an eerie glow over the widespread carnage, and the silence grew gradually more ominous as the daylight disappeared.

There was a single figure on the horizon. He had no armor, and he carried no weapon, nor wore anything that gave any indication of nobility, but nonetheless his importance was unmistakable.

A small child appeared before him. She took the man's mud caked hand and looked up into his sun darkened face, and did what any ordinary child would do--asked a question.

"Why did those people kill each other?"

The man was silent for a long time, carefully contemplating how to answer such a powerful question.

Finally, he spoke, purely and simply.

"Because they didn't know any better."