Day of the Wolves #4

Cities of Stone, Cities of Wood, burn just as well. Cities of Gold, Cities of Silver, exist just the same. Farmlands plundered may as well be salted, they offer the same amount of food. Stale bread and rancid butter are just as palatable as being eaten by the Winter. Ashes cannot be eaten, pebbles can not be spent, ruins offer no walls from retribution.
The Thane who sailed to sea, did not imagine the sea was full of salt, nor that all glittering objects are not precious. Sand and rock are not the same and building a kingdom upon one will only lead to strife.
His axe bloodied on men and women, who fought him all the same. A Rash man makes a poor Thane, and a poor Thane makes for a lot of poor men. A pit of vipers is more than a match for a Wolf, even if that wolf cuts a thousand of them in twain.
His axe blunt, his men dying – the Thane from across the sea makes haste to flee home but a burning ship leaves no way to escape. His small bout of freedom is coming to a close as the jaws of a viper shut around his neck – this one large enough to swallow him whole.
The land he carved destiny from, was not an island but an Empire, and it seems destiny had a wicked sense of humour.

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