The region was never truly peaceful, as one tribe after another attempted to assert its superiority over all the others. Many periods of history were marked by a kind of tense quiet that on the surface might seem peaceful, but were really quite violent in all realms other than the material here and now.
Then one day, war broke out.
Despite the constant shelling, the risk of conscription, and the ever present risk of death, there was also palpable relief in the air. After decades of repeating the same position, war was at least novel.
The war didn’t go quite as planned, of course. They never do.
This one got out of hand in the peculiar sort of way that can happen when both sides are armed above and beyond all reason.
When the dust settled, the chain of twisty valleys had been levelled, and was now a plain.
A mirror-flat plane of glass.
And all was silent, as peace settled over the land.