Years ago when I lived in Miami, I started a book about centaurs in an alternate dimension and invaders from post-Apocalyptic Earth. I have begun work on it again and have 28 pages of the rewrite (it needs a lot of help!) like having completely left out how these creatures become friends of Man when we are trying to subjugate them. Here is the Prologue:
We might have worshiped the invaders as gods. The One God, when he was amongst us, had walked upright on two legs. Our scriptures foretold their coming, but not the cruelty and brutality with which they greeted us. Their weapons belched fire and thunder, and my people fell. On a crimson tide, Man flooded our quiet valleys.
We were defenseless. For centuries, the Andalos had been a peaceful herd. The One God had persuaded my ancestors to put away our weapons. The Days of the Sword now belonged to legend. I had reached six-and-twenty years and had never even seen the weapons we’d used in wars with other Breeds. Long ago, the battle movements—piaffe, passage, capriole and courbette—had evolved into ceremonial dances.
For many years, the war between Man and the Centaur has raged. Locusts, wave after wave, they came, two-legged beings pointing their sticks, and they left the stench of death and destruction. I began this account when I was free and a warrior, but the story and my life changed completely when I became a captive.
If this narrative has a bitter taste, it is only a remembered flavor, merely an after-taste of blood and ashes.
Love is mightier than the sword.