He scoffs again. "Your world increasingly sounds like a backwater slog of a place. By all means, barricade it off from the rest of us so we don't have to deal with the yokels that populate it. Leave them to their sticks and mud and assumptions that the sun is some kind of angry god. Do they throw rocks at the moon? Do they kill their firstborn during an eclipse? Are they collectively afraid of fire? Just curious."

He takes a crunchy bite of that ice cream cone finally, chewing and looking smug. Tasty.