But what it came down to, in the end, was violence. Her safety, Evrim’s safety, the safety of the Shapesinger singing whatever legend it was singing on its skin—all of it depended upon violence. Without that violence, without the devastation Altantsetseg controlled, the world would rush in and destroy all of this. Altantsetseg was right: killing is what our existence does on this planet. All we have—everything we use to live—is taken from someone else.
