For the wanderer astray, the hermit seeking the lost books
To him the bitter path of knowledge is truly germane
And to gaze at the grand canvas of depravity, the deified crooks
All the depth of duplicity of the celestial rulers most profane.

If I rolled the dice carved out of my weathered bone
And offered of my blood the libation to the fane
When even the reaper’s mockery forsakes me alone
My own clangorous thoughts are the last to remain

When a mortal man breaks a people, it is always blamed on the gods.

A grim expression came over Syah’s face. “The colt you speak of lost its mother during a storm. If this stallion was that colt, it is not just wild, it is insane. That horse will break your bones.”

“And that will be a worthy end, a prince struck down by such a noble steed.”

Fasime pushed himself off the support of the fence, but Oman grabbed his arm.

“It’s not worth it, Brother.”

“I can tame him.”

“What will we tell Mother and Father if he kills you?” Oman questioned.

“Tell them I gave my life with pride. Do not punish him if he kills me. Release him back into the wild, and my spirit will ride him into the mist.

I now wondered if the lullaby of death was not a lovely song, but the droning of flies. If flies and maggots were all Death's handmaidens.

My eyes burned, and I blinked as I faced the books. "And I suppose," I said with an effort at lightness, "That it's a miracle I can actually read these things."
Rhys's answering smile was lovely - and just a bit wicked. "I believe my little lessons helped."
"Yes, 'Rhys is the greatest lover a female can hope for' is undoubtedly how I learned to read."
"I was only trying to tell you what you now know.