The Immortals, 1

Civilization 6 as Cyrus, Emperor difficulty, standard game speed on Large Island Plates.

Cyrus, king of nothing much at the moment, leader of a band of travelers, vagabonds, wanderings and the bored clapped his hand down in the mane of the donkey carrying most everything he had ever needed or wanted in the world on its back. The motion kicked up a cloud of flies, which he swatted at.

“Here.” Cyrus said, speaking from his chest to make the words carry through the forest. The men who had been tasked with the burdens of food, baskets of roots plucked from the ground and red fruits pulled down from trees, looked up around them again, eyes re-opened taking in the trees.

“It will – “. Another damned fly brushed his nose. Cyrus scrunched his face and swatted at the air with a cupped hand. He brought the closed fist up to his eyes and opened it.

Empty… Damn. Cyrus cleared his throat.

“It will be here.”

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