"You know," he mused, "in a way this<i>is</i>just another day on the calendar. The world didn't end--it changed, yes, and violently. It's a more brutal world now. A more primitive one. But it isn't over, Malia. We're just on our way to the next step up." For all his positive talk he couldn't help but agree with her. People had become so numb to the cruelties visited on them by their fellow man. He didn't know when they had all silently agreed to shrug off the inequalities and come to rely on a few for protection against the many, but he knew all too well that it was so. His parents both had been Striders like him. And he knew what end awaited him as much as they had known their own fates.<br/><br/>They were at the water by then, and he knelt down to scoop some sand and dirt up into a makeshift dam, creating a little bowl there on the beach. He reached into his belt and came up with a sprinkle of powder, which he dropped into the water and stirred with one finger. In moments suds had began to blossom across the surface. "Don't worry about how they feel toward me. It's not Striders they hate or fear. Not really. It's the reminder." He looked up at her. "We remind them that they aren't safe. That they can't be complacent. That there is very real, very valid danger to contend with on a regular basis. We're meant as symbols of peace but we're seen as reminders of war. Here, though, wash. The soap will make it much easier."