“His body rigid with terror as he waited for the savages to something horrible to him—bash his head with clubs, or stab him with spears, or……or tap him on the shoulder.”

“Beside us lies a fair-headed recruit in utter terror. He has buried his face in his hands, his helmet has fallen off. I fish hold of it and try to put it back on his head. He looks up, pushes the helmet off and like a child creeps under my arm, his head close to my breast. The little shoulders heave. Shoulders just like Kemmerich's. I let him be.”

“Part of him wanted to weep... but his purpose was rigid within him. He felt he could not bend to gentleness without breaking.”

“Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in!”

“From Kari Gregg's "What Rough Beast"{Elliot} blinked when a blade speared neatly through the master's chest from the rear. "Got him," Garrick shouted over the master's shoulder. "Set, Elliot."Set what? He didn't care.He channeled his rage and pierced the dark master through, impaling him on his blade. Garrick slid his free.Malachi yanked him down a split second before Garrick's sword severed his head as well as the dark master's. Chest heaving, he sprawled in the dust, blinking at the fuzzy image of the head bouncing across the floor. It came to rest at the bottom spoke of a crumbling ladder, the vampyr's teeth still gnashing.His new partner dragged him upright and, looking in his eyes, squeezed his shoulder. "Set means your blade will set the enemy for your partner's killing blow" Malachi grinned at him, chuckled. "It also means duck.”

“He did not want to feel old. He did not want to feel the weight of his age hovering above him, mocking him out of the core of a man’s pride, waiting to descend upon his mind and body.”