Black Leopard, Red Wolf (Dark Star Trilogy)

Like, I like. Dislike, I love. Disgust, I can feel. Loathing, I can grab in the palm of my hand and squeeze. And hatred, I can live in hatred for days. But the smug smile of indifference on someone’s face makes me want to hack it off.

Like, I like. Dislike, I love. Disgust, I can feel. Loathing, I can grab in the palm of my hand and squeeze. And hatred, I can live in hatred for days.

“So these are enchanted woods,” I said.

“These are hot-tempered woods, if you don’t shut up,” he said.

“Watching the new men and women in the bush. Luala Luala, the people above the Gangatom, have man who live with man like a wife, and woman who live with woman like a husband, and man and woman with no man or woman, who live as they choose, and in all these things there is no strangeness,” he said.

My name was my father’s possession, so I left it by his gate.

The last man was a boy. He cried. He was too shaken to beg for his life. I told him to be a man in his next life, for he is less than a worm in this one, and flung the knife right into his neck.

Because we tell stories to live, and that sort of story needs a purpose, so that sort of story must be a lie. Because at the end of a true story, there is nothing but waste.

It was growing tiresome, men and women looking at me once and thinking they knew my kind, and of my kind there was not much to know

Truth eats lies just as the crocodile eats the moon

“Tracker,” I said.
“He does not speak our language,” another warrior said.
“Nothing special about the language of Fasisi,” I said.
“Then what is your name?”
“I am Tracker,” I said.
“I will not ask again.”
“Then don’t. I said my name is Tracker. Is your name Deaf One?”