Of a sudden, pain. That is how you know it is war.
Pain? Why is this pain?
Stumbling, you faint into a thornbush, scarcely noticing. You sigh into a paper cup and stream into a thousand rivers. Pain!
Pain!
And as soon as it goes, it is washed away, away by the rivers into the rivers and lakes and streams nestled in the mountains. Is this madness? Was that pain?
A river nestles into the battlefield and flows red into crimson springs. Is... or does it...
But all that is here is tatters.