The gods, or fate, or the nature of life in these lands - whatever it is that we each acknowledge as guiding our lives - then that driving force gives, and it takes.

It was the dying moments of night. Ayla looked up as the sky started to brighten, and commented that this was the first occasion we'd seen those moments together. And then before our eyes the 'rifter rose in all its splendour. Rays of pearl and crimson tinted the clouds, bringing back colour leached from the lands during the marcs of darkness. It seemed, as we stood on golden sands bathed in light, that the 'rifter had risen just for the two of us. A superb gift, indeed. Beneath that gorgeous spectacle we would have danced, to make the moment complete.

But then the Iron Mistress of duty called me away. And all too soon I was at a Life Monument, blood and life taken by a series of blows I could neither escape nor withstand.

While waiting to return to the fray I reflected on how gifts are given and things are taken. Marcs filled with the clamour of battle and the smell of blood, surrounded by enemies and death ... are those marcs a reasonable price to pay for moments of perfection shared with those who are dear to us?

Yes, they are.

I've been thinking, thinking about thought. And if that sounds convoluted, and if it sounds a certain way to leave yourself with a blinding headache - it is.

More specifically, I was considering how quickly we think compared to how fast we can speak, or do something. I suspect thought is the fastest. Certainly it appears so, as by and large before speaking or performing an action some thought is necessary. I'm well aware that there are exceptions to this generality - a reaction to an attack for example usually requires very little reflection before we fight back. And as for speaking without thinking - well, that's just going to cause so much trouble and upset it's not worth contemplating.

The slowest of all is to explain what we're doing while we do it, or to describe what we intend to do beforehand. Speaking aloud, voicing our thoughts - that can be taken as a sign of weakness, or give the impression that we don't know what we're doing or are supposed to be doing.

There are very few cases in which we should just act with no explanation. Sometimes it turns out to be what's expected. The trick is to recognise those situations and act accordingly.





A couple of turns back I was checking a few things around Milltown and Dundee. Somehow I ended up in the place I'm usually least likely to be without a specific purpose. I rarely visit my own guildhall these days and then it's usually only for some work in my lair. But I tarried for a while, looking at some of the changes there. And then I found something that hadn't changed. Long ago I set a candle in the bottom room of the tower, held in place against the wall with a dagger. It was there so that its light would shine out, as a beacon and reminder. The candle had long since burned away. I slipped the dagger into my pack. The reason for it to be there faded, along with that candle's light, some time ago. I'm not too sure when that was. Haggie will give me a few coins for the blade - though what he pays will be far less than the worth of the thing when I set it there - and it'll be far more than any value to be found in it now.