If I for my opinion bleed, opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, and keep me on the side where still I am.
Who was the Thief that she would love him? A youth, just a boy with hardly a beard and no sense at all. . . A liar, she thought, an enemy, a threat. He was brave, a voice inside her said, he was loyal. . . A fool, she answered back. A fool and a dead one. She ached with emptiness.