He thereby laid in corner of fields, breathing heavily and awaited his death with heart full of hatred and mouth full of bitter songs and curses. He sang how the world is selfish and brutal. How there is no loyalty in anyone. I went to him to listen to his sorrow and he told me his tale.
He said he was a smart archer and very competent in aim. He forged arms with his own hands. He had acquired best skills. His weapons were unmatchable. Their edge had no opponent. He especially cared for his arrows which he crafted with steel and nourished with venom so as no target escapes. The arrows were to him like a child is to mother. But the edge that he forged for his enemies now cut his own body by chance. He now cursed the loyalty of his arrows for he was their creator and they care not to kill him.
I stood there numb. How could I tell him that poison is poison! It won’t care to whom it effect. Its only purpose is destruction and will serve it without fail.
