It's in the god's hands.
Makes you wonder if the gods are always right.
I...keep trying to be perfect. For you. So you'll notice me.
Stop grieving. Start giving thanks to me. You live to fight on other days.
We've the new hard-steel, though why they're all so hot to pay twice the price when men're soft as clay and even wood will pierce the boldest belly, I can't say.
Tempus would be protected, better shielded from whatever the Stepson thought threatening, if love could heal and save.