I thought we'd die there, quarrels in our backs, you for what you did and me for bearing witness.

Die never for a god, Nikodemos who should know better - not your soldiers' god, nor any other.

The two stallions, the silver and the black, represent the equine god (whomsoever horses pray to) in this ritual so ancient that no one knows what god to thank.

Survival has its own etiquette.

Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.

For the gift of life, the only true thanks was in living fully, and facing death with honor.

You get what you expect. Expect to heal. Expect victory.