I should finish reading Midnight Tides next week. It took a while.

“I am a caster of nets.”

“Yet, should the need arise, your tyrant masters could call you into military service.”

“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.”

A curious speech, Trull reflected. The wisdom of peasants was rarely articulated in such clear fashion. Even so, claims to truth were innumerable. “Unless, Lilac, all the casters and tillers and herders are dead.”

“I spoke not of ourselves, Trull, but of our tasks. Kenyll’rah, Edur, Letherii, the selves are not eternal. Only the tasks.”

“Unless everything is dead.”

“Life will return, eventually. It always does. If the water is foul, it will find new water.”

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