That seemed a fitting beginning.
Seeing she had her Emperor's complete and undivided attention, Si'Wren was emboldened to inscribe further, 'The craftsman measures with his eye, and marks with his forearm; he whittles pegs to pound into the holes he has made, and attaches a head and arms onto a graven block of wood, making block-heads to bow down to. He marks eyes, nose, and mouth with the dividers, and showers the ground with the unwanted kindling as he fashions the figure of a monster man, to stand in the nook by the front door and impress his visitors as they come in.'
Then, still dissatisfied, she took a deep breath, poised and motionless with her marking tools in her fingers, and finally set to work as she began to really spell it out, knowing she might not get another chance if she were to be executed for her troubles.
'He plants trees which are watered by the hind leg of his own dogs.
Then he hews down the beautiful trees; cypress, oak, and ash.'
Running out of space, she laid the tablet before the Emperor and drew another to her, and as he read and watched in benumbed astonishment, she continued resolutely;
'Then shall his god warm him: for he will take the kindling and wood chips to make his own fire, wearing down his gnashing teeth on coarse stone grit bread baked with the coals made from the self-same trees, and bowing down to the termite nests hidden in the hearts of his gods.'
Si'Wren felt she was on the right track at last, after so many doubts in her own heart. Ever since the death of Nelatha, she'd had such doubts, but no more.
The ivory stick-ends moved to an enchanting, arrhythmic tempo as she marked on swiftly;
'He burns the cedar fleas of his god to begat roasted pig's flesh, and says, Aha!, I am warm, my god is a wood fire. He falls down before such and tearfully worships their acrid, stinking smoke, and licks dust, crying loudly, Spare me oh gods!'
Si'Wren thought of the wrath of Master Rababull, long-dead, and what he had done to poor defenseless Nelatha. Then she thought of the sudden fate of Sorpiala, and how one never knew when one's time might come.