Is often weary and he needs a God
To be a comfort to him.
[The Monk plucks his habit away. Seanchan holds up his hand as if a bird perched upon it. He pretends to stroke the bird.
A little god,
With soft well-coloured feathers, and bright eyes.
Aileen.
We have listened long enough.
Essa.
Let us away,
Where we can watch the young men at the hurley.