Ferethor rose. His voice was bitter, but neither were they sad or afraid. "My life?" At that clipped question, Hirfirilen threw back his head and laughed. "What use shall I have, little brother, for your death? My revenge is buried in the path I've trod for seven years.
"So you say." Ferthor sad, not slakening his wariness, fencing. "So you may even believe. But I see your anger, however well you disguise it, burning behind your laughing eyes. You're consumed with undeserved hatred, and it made you a man eager to destroy."
"If you will be only satisfied with my life, then so be it. But I am not going to help you in any vile thing that you're plotting in your heart. It's going to end with my death anyway - you've never had much faith."
Ferethor left the room.
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