the smuggler’s bible

Dromond of Frisia

Given one million years, water flowing over a stone will carry it away downstream, piece by piece, no recourse whatsoever. It’s unimaginable even that the stone might consider recourse. Motion and duration of exposure are the right and left fists of inevitability, which it raises to its mouth, blowing gently on the knuckles of each before the violence begins.

Sometimes the abuse lasts a few rounds before the bell rings. And other times—once, at least—a man ends up sitting beside a fire outside Ravenna with smoke in his eyes, bored nearly to tears waiting for that left hook.