“Perhaps, somewhere far East where the mothers and spouses of those left strewn across the grass sit and wait for their sons to come home, they think the same of their own precious ones. A hundred of her own would not be equal to one of theirs in their eyes. A funny sentiment, one that causes the slightest smile, unnoticed by all but one of those around her, to tilt the prince's lips up. They were all fools drenched in red, regardless of what deity or god it was in the name of.”
Book:Hymn of The Night