Death sat astride his pitch black steed & stared out over his domain, absently sharpening his scythe.
“Why is it,” He said to War, who was busy doing unpleasant things to small furry animals “why is it, that when you look up at the clouds that they look like little fluffy sheep?” “Eh!?!” said War, looking worried “Wat’choo talkin’ abaht!!?”
“Oh never mind. Let’s go & see what Pestilence & Famine are doing…”