They came as an armada of white bobbing atop the windswept waters. Even without a sun to cast bright rays upon them, they gleamed with a magnificence our best could not match. Prows raised, proud before our feeble defenders, they cut the waves in two without even trying. There was no doubt who’d won this day, and with it the battle, for it was over before ever having begun. Galleons of white-sided brilliance, the swans took the duck pond. It was a short war fought not in crimson, but in white.