“What have I done to anger you, Ery?” My voice cracked on his name. I could endure lashings, beatings, starvation, and extreme weather, but losing him would be the one thing to destroy me. “It is not what you have done to me, but what you’ve done to yourself,” he answered, looking as if he didn’t recognize me. “Why can you not grasp the truth that slaves are below us? That you must fight or you will die. Your weakness, my friend, is caring too much. Your heart is kind, but this is no place to be of tender heart.”
