...I remember the irritation. ( Another pause, spanning, sinking. ) I was irritated too readily.

( Fault was his, juvenile. He has ripened since to accept that the world turns and voyages round to its own order. His wants, his whims, his weeping are immaterial. They did not move a sea of swords facing Wei Ying, gleam of their steel blinding. How does he recall this, and not —

He does not sway, against the strain on his mind, against the ludicrous, obscene exercise of staying upright. He knows, as his brother must know, that they are not right. All is amiss here, riotous. )

Yesterday. ( No, think. ) Today. Today's sunrise. I recalled less than now. The spell wanes.