Decisions do not look perishing men in feeble eyes.

( Correction, contradiction, silent and susurrating adjustment: perhaps there is an edge of metallic, sharp grudge to this, a sullenness to his disposition. He has known men who cut fine weapons from their orders, made their will into thin blades, their manipulation into darts that slip between ribs and nails' beds. )

Words do not bleed at feet. ( Words are candidly dismissed, easily forgotten, lest they originate with blood of one's blood, borrowed or fostered kin, with elders, with men to whom one is bound in duty.

This is battle, the boy-child settled at Lan Wangji's side as if he would will his width tripled to become his shield. Unbidden, careful to pronounce petty wounds at the boy's side with a tired, negligent swing, Wangji sheathes his sword back in her fetters, walking on. )

Death is no kindness. Where they retain enough flesh, we shall give the fallen rites.

( ...unless, once more with feeling, the dead dissolve into crumbs and bone and debris. That too can happen. )