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In the old times things were made with beauty in mind, not merely usefulness. How unlike these times.
“You have so much that your hearts have become small. You can live very well with very little. Sometimes, it is better this way.”
“Lady Lebía said you’ve not snored so loudly in weeks. It would’ve been a crime to wake you.”
Voran could find no words for a long time, content only to look into the abyss of her eyes. It was never easy for him to look into another person’s eyes. It was dangerously intimate, and he was squeamish about that kind of intimacy. Looking into her eyes was like staring from a peak at a river at the bottom of a valley, jumping down without closing his eyes, and then plunging into the river, only to find it had no bottom. There was no single word for it.
“Why do the innocent suffer?” asked Dar Cassían. “Why do the guilty prosper?” A voice thundered from the heavens. “When you have given your life to the suffering innocents, then you may ask. Not before.”
Don’t look for evil in the dark shadows. Don’t look for evil in the night. Look for it in the middle of the day. Beware the demon that wears the skin of those you love.
Most of all he preferred the noise of the sea, its gentle and constant complaint about something so old it had long forgotten what it was.
Does that answer your question?” Voran nodded. “But inspires new ones, of course.” He smiled sheepishly, and Tarin laughed, giving Voran enough encouragement to ask again.
Voran laughed, but his joy was a shard of metal in his heart.
