Rather, he fought with a fierce, burning spirit that would not simply give up and die. The ideal that he held in his breast as the great work of his life had not yet been even half-finished. It would be too mortifying to be defeated in the middle of the journey. There was just too much to be regretted if he died this morning. So he took another arrow and notched it to the string. He listened to the string hum again and again, seeming to loose his anger with each arrow. Finally the string became frayed and the bow was ready to break.
