The oppressed rise against that which was founded eons ago. They cling to that which they are told. Stories told by those long dead. Mere Mortals. They forget where they came from. The herd they left behind. I have not. For I am still a follower of the old ways. I am still one with nature, the elements, I AM flesh, I AM blood. I bleed when cut, I weep when sorrow fills me. I burn with desire. I walk upon this Earth not as society would like. I am an outcast because I follow the old ways. Yet, I am a heathen, a blasphemer. I am not. I am who I am because of what I practice. I will not conform to the "norm." I will continue down the road I have