Posted May 21, 2018 At a point deep in my Lieutenancy, I came upon the father of the Gauls. For only the briefest of reflections, I remembered a tenuous connection to a time when time might have mattered. He could not move his limbs. He lay there on my slab, dear Vercingetorix. “I see many children, women, old folk all cheeks hollowed. I see them eating the dead. I see a great wolf with a cape of crimson prowling above them. How have my kin come to be there? Because of me. That is why I’m here.” I appropriately said nothing, and with a method of quiet professionalism, I raised my bone saw. “How shall we begin, Master?” 1 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
