BUNKER

Some frontiers are 'natural', like the one crawling between a plateau overlooking the low lands bordering rivers; and usually those are left 'alone', to the trees within which warning signs are posted, like 'think before crossing' or 'pray to the gods up there';

This 'belongs' to a province, kind of a 'frog pond' surrounded by nine others 'king's domains' and this froggy domain has it's own king's seat, a just oh! so small replica of the usual medieval city, rivers bathing the former low grade populace, looked upon by the upward top crop of 'rulers' from the plateau which even is belted with an old stone fortification, itself a reminder of 'whom' and 'when'...

But now, the all of it is lost into the foggy exudations of croaking frogs jumping on each one's back, hugging together, all worked up from the sun's coat of heat, dreaming of an independence which looks more and more like an absence, indifference, forget me not, kind of non existence;

They now 'own' their pond, not knowing what to 'do'