Apocrypha of the First, Chapter VI

Sleep with me, this first winter. You are a broken man, the prison of that well humbled you. My father said that nothing breaks a warrior faster than being in a cell for too long. Once, when he was a soldier, they threw him in a cell for half a moon and he would always talk about it. The

They don’t make cells out of pity, to keep men alive. The silence of the cell shutters a man’s soul, and it can never be glued back together. Your hobbled leg doesn’t help...