These people less than bugs to the First Terror, who had been raised properly on his diet of royal sycophants; the sort of man whose depressed mood was helped by the eradication of these small wooden blights on the land. The trees shattering in their wake. The river waters breaking upward like frightened cats, the furious horses galloping underneath these watery arches as they, by the Terror’s hand, cheated their way through the sun-fried land, the sons following the father on his mission of blood.
