Sometimes, when things are bad, I talk too much.
Because I want people to know what I am thinking.
Because they MUST know what I am thinking.
Because I got hurt,
or I'm afraid.
And I need to blame, or share, or validate, or search for hope in some fashion.
... as if the gods were listening.
"Where are your Gods, now?", said the stranger to the kid in the ruined bastion.
"They are busy... doing important things in other places. But they'll hear me eventually, and then things will get better."
"The gods are listening.
They have heard you, but they can't do anything, kid.
... because their "hands are tied", either by another god or a fear of conflict.
... or because they don't have the time to deal with your problems.
... or because everything sounds like wizards fighting, and they don't want to make the wrong choice.
You can't fix this because authority is the missing element, and you have none of that.
And so the suffering will continue, the gods and you and me all agree that the situation is bad."
The kid thought long and hard about the stranger's words. He had been doing a lot of talking, lately.
Words work when the gods have the attention, understanding, and empowerment to change things... but in godless country, words are just an indulgent reminder of how truly powerless we are over things that are unwilling or unable to change for the better.
There comes a point where people just get tired of hearing about your open wound.
And so, the talking ended.
The silent protagonist knew what had to be done.