the smuggler’s bible

Dromond of Frisia

Poets seem to think the biggest trouble is one of community. Loving, losing and loving again and again—a thirsty man watching water seep through his fingers. God, it’s like a fetish for them.

Dromond settles down on occasion. There are women, of course, and even a son once for a while. But that all ends. Heartbreak is the same as anything else—thirty, fifty, one hundred times—it only gets easier. That’s how people are made. Nothing hurts forever.

The real struggle is being understood. But after he learns Latin it’s a long time before that’s a problem again.