❛ the excellence of every art is its intensity. ❜
john keats’ quotes sentence starters | @shedeathsnot accepting.
SHE’S NEITHER THE WOLF NOR THE LAMB, and though the foolish would take her fair appearance as a chance to liken her to the merciful half of the kindred, he sees in those crystal eyes of her that there’s more of the wolf in this woman than not. there’s a reason why she appears in the middle of the battlefield, all pristine while the bodies pile up, the axe he holds beyond bloodied. he spares her a glance, a long one, and her words almost have him bark a bitter laugh.
there’s no art in this carnage --- otherwise it’d make him a virtuoso, what with the intimate knowledge he has of how it feels, when flesh gives to blade, when breath ceases and hearts stop. he has felt no pleasure in it, no great epiphany as he’s came to learn it as routine. still, she is outerworldly in a way that stills his tongue for the briefest of moments.
“i know not who you are, but this?” he gestures towards the piling corpses, the scorched land. his men scattered, gathering the wounded, he sees no beauty in war, only necessity. it is the only driving force behind the hand, nothing else.
“this is no art, this is duty.”
