The Feeder of wolves fell, worker of evil deeds. The poet chopped Ljot’s leg off, I brought Fridgeir peace. I do not ask reward from the splasher of gold for that. The spears’ din was fun enough, the fight with the pale man. -from “Egil’s Saga”

The Kenryll’ah have ruled a long time, Trull Sengar. And have grown weak with complacency. They cannot see their own impending demise. It is always the way of things, such blindness. No matter how long and perfect the succession of fallen empires and civilizations so clearly writ into the past, the belief remains that one’s own shall live for ever, and is not subject to the indomitable rules of dissolution that bind all of nature.’ The small, calm eyes of the demon looked down steadily upon Trull. ‘I am a caster of nets. Tyrants and emperors rise and fall. Civilizations burgeon then die, but there are always casters of nets. And tillers of the soil, and herders in the pastures. We are where civilization begins, and when it ends, we are there to begin it again. Steven Erikson, Midnight Tides (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #5) l

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