With another faint, wistful smile, Anomander Rake strode past him. Whiskeyjack sheathed his bloodied sword, and followed. He stared at the Tiste Andii’s broad back, at the weapon that hung from it. Anomander Rake, how can you bear this burden? This burden that has so thoroughly broken my heart? But no, that is not what so tears at me. Lord of Moon’s Spawn, you asked me to step aside, and you called it a mercy. I misunderstood you. A mercy, not to the Women of the Dead Seed. But to me. Thus your sorrowed smile when I denied you. Ah, my friend, I saw only your brutality – and that hurt you.
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