It is upon each soul to recognize its limit.

We know. We've seen it all before.

"Mercy is not in favor in my heavens today," says Vashanka, unforgiving and combative, folding vast arms and spearing Harmony with lightning that crackles from his gaze.

Look to the souls of Your own soldiers, God, who labor in Thine awful cause.

I don't want to be any closer to the gods than death will bring me.

Gods have bloody hands.

Then what difference does human striving make: mortal struggle, valor, pain? If you live, then live for the test of spirit, for the celebration of the heart. Live to fight on other days. Lose your beloveds one by one. And remember. Exalt the kiss of friend and horse and wind and sun, which venality cannot cheapen nor stupidity belittle.