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Harmony - 
The moons rays lighting two forms on the rocks beneath the pines.
An occasional words between spiral rings of smoke.
Peace.
Conflict -
A blare of trumpets - Reverberating
Call to arms.
Quickened pulses or a slim youth in a crystal pool [[strikethrough]] so [[/strikethrough]]
Fast [[strikethrough]] Even [[/strikethrough]] sure strokes carry him to the opposite bank.
He laughs - youth is conflict.  
Slowly the man walks.  [[strikethrough]] to the [[/strikethrough]] down the pine fragrant path. He passes a crystal pool. And smiles.
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