8. SORROW
The lean dagger had gone into the Poet’s heart.
Shuddering, he plucked it free, lest he should die. And then—by magic—it became in his hand a shining sword fit to smite down the sorrow of the world.
The lean dagger had gone into the Poet’s heart.
Shuddering, he plucked it free, lest he should die. And then—by magic—it became in his hand a shining sword fit to smite down the sorrow of the world.