...An old farmer walked his fields at dawn, checking on the seeding he had completed weeks before. The soil was his temple, and he had honored it every day of his life. His children would inherit these fields improved, richer, more generous than he had found them. Grumbar walked behind him, invisible, blessing each row. The god of earth paid no attention to the mighty fortresses built on stone. He watched instead the women and men who understood that the world was fed by hands that learned the patient language of seasons, and in that work, they were closest to divinity itself....