Time thins the cloth of memory. As the ages pass, its rich colors fade. Strong wool is beaten by the elements until the pattern of its lesson disintegrates, leaving holes in the truth it was meant to carry on. Even the stains of blood bend and bleed, leaving but faded blotches without meaning, mere shadows of lessons that came before, their warnings lost within the obscure impression that remains.

Fill what’s empty, empty what’s full, and scratch where it itches, your Grace. That’s my motto.

Fear was the worst evil ever to plague a man, for with it came hesitation and with that, inaction, failure, death.