He slid over slick roots and muddy patches, unable to see as well as he would have liked in the moisture-saturated darkness. Every bump to his leg became more and more painful as the night wore on. “Ironic, now, that I wish the lightning was flashing more often,” he said. “What is ‘ironic?’” Pomp...
He had not eaten for days. Only the draughts that Selene brought to him from time to time sustained him, quenching his thirst and giving moisture to his filthy skin. The only movements he made were the laborious trips to the cistern and to bed, to relieve himself and catch a few hours of troubled...