“This is not an oath,” Herric said. “It is a scar. And scars can be cut away.”
He did not scream. He had learned, long ago, that pain was only a message. And he had stopped listening to the Duke’s messages. a man rides through by stephen r donaldson.pdf
He slept in fits, dreaming of a woman’s voice calling his name from the bottom of a well. When he woke, the sleet had turned to snow, and the world was white and silent. “This is not an oath,” Herric said
“That was always your weakness,” Herric said. “You think being remembered matters. You think fear and legacy are the same thing. But I don’t need to be remembered. I only need to be the man who rides through.” “This is not an oath