Once upon a time, there was a land named Calaia, located in a mountainous region in modern day Spain. At the time, Spain was being conquered by the Roman Empire. Calaia meant ‘the untouched land' given that its forests and mountains had no human settlements yet. Many animals lived here and they all thought no one would ever conquer the land or settle on it. To them, Calaia was beautiful because it was untouched; a kingdom with no people, no citizens. There was no king to rule it nor to sit upon an arbitrary throne to govern all. Yet, an old brown mole among them always said:

 

"The land, fat in soil,

rich with timber, ores

and fruit, indeed,

is beautiful to see.

 

Yet, the land that abides

with sinners and guilty men

condemned to die,

knowing not their crimes,

but their Heart alone,

will, at once, beautiful be."

 

Yet, nobody understood what the mole meant by this.

Soon enough, though, it seemed like the name Calaia was swept by the winds of time, so seemingly restless, as troops of armed men with bright, flaming, red-feathered crests upon their shining grey helmets marched upon the land. These ruthless men, the Roman soldiers bearing their grey metal swords, lances and chest plates with only shoulder blades, began to light fires and burn all that stood in their path. Yet, as the tiny brown feathered sparrows flew and the wild brown deer galloped as fast as they could, the old mole just gazed upon the high towers of black smoke rising to cover the sunsetting yellow sky in thick clouds.

One toad with bumpy cactus-green skin told him, "Mr. Mole, you better run! The Romans will rip you to bits with their swords!"

Yet, the mole merely replied, "There is no land where to flee; beyond the grove of pines lies a sea of salty tears, made bitter by those who sail its waters in vain searches."

"But surely", started the toad, "you must prefer the sight of waves to this horrible, hellish display, no?"

"The only horror to it," said the mole, "is the sadness carried by these ill men. Yet, even then, Calaia sees that not...".

"There is no more Calaia!", shouted the toad, "It is only Rome now and it is Rome we must escape!"

"Yet, Calaia is untouched, remember?", said the mole. "It must be so, be it called by Rome's, Calaia's or any other name...".

"But these men don't know that!", said the toad."They shan't honor -...".

"They cannot dishonor our land", stated the mole."For Calaia is beautiful for merely being, and being what it must forever be, it can take no offense by these men who think they sin."

"You do not fear them...", said the toad.

"No more does Calaia...", said the mole.

Both stared at the columns of smoke for a minute or two, perhaps, and then the old mole said, "Why don't we go to my den? It's right by the old pond and I bet there's some really juicy flies hanging ‘bout...".

"I...", croaked the toad, "wouldn't be opposed to it...".

And so both the mole and the toad walked away into the depths of the forest, lush and verdant with green leaves growing from the trees with brown trunks. The two walked steadfastly, never looking back upon the sight their eyes had seen. And as Rome's name left peacefully from their minds, they took deep breaths to enjoy, at last, a moment's quiet.