I am fine with genocide of villagers. Ripping apart entire families for the sake of keeping my wallet fat. My heart does not quiver no quake at the thought of forcing rows upon rows of broken men and women to serve me for eternity, locked in cages like pathetic beasts only to be used like machines.
But that pig walking before me when I am on the verges of starvation? Innocently wandering the forest with nothing but a quaint family—a partner and some piglets? Tis’ too beautiful a thing to slaughter. I cannot bear to bring down my axe.