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"there are two wolves is each one of us..." the weathered lips spoke. the divining smoke snaked around the matted silver hair draping over the dull vacant eyes of the seer.
the young man sat amused by the spectacle. he had seen too many promises come and go, most of them falling short of their intent.
"..they fight for your spirit till the day you die."
"..what's the whole point sachshem?" insisted the impatient shade.
"one of them is plagued by fear. feeding off the weak and leads them astray ..."
Sutra could feel his eyes roll.
"the other one prospers through the mercy is grants to both enemy and ally. it strives to lead those entrusted to it well for the good of the whole..."
"So which one wins woman?" posed sarcastically the shrouded man.
The ancient soothsayer peered intently at the boisterous young man and gave him a toothy grin. He swore she could see him.
"Neither..."
Sutra stirred from the unwelcome memory. He had grown aggressively annoyed at the invasive thoughts brewing behind his eyes. They sat deeply seeded in his subconscious, just out of his reach.
The dark shade took a moment from his boiling rage and sighed. He took pleasure in his new found artistry. It spoke to him. Whispering divine instructions back home.
The canvas quivered causing the artist to freeze. Sutra leaned forward examining the dripping color.
"No, no, no...it's all wrong..." he spoke to himself. The luke-warm paint began to congeal quickly. Time was running out.
"Not yet..." he whispered into the pallid ear.
He took the blade across the shivering flesh once more and carved the last glyph. It was good.
"Tell them...all of them..."
The young elf quivered under the shadows hot breath. He had recognized her from the clandestine meetings in the northern woods. Word of their weakness had somehow reached their lifelong enemies.
Someone was talking.
Sutra pressed his lips to the soft forehead.
"...tell them it doesn't have to end this way..."
The blade sang magnificently under the choking youths throat. His cheek pressed tightly against the jerking head sensing her essence escape through the fresh wound.
"Fly little one...fly..."
S
[con't]
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The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu
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