"Tell me this observation," Monok Ochem said.
"I shall, Bonecaster. It concerns nature… and the exigency of maintaining a balance."
Had he possessed a soul, Onrack would have felt it grow cold as ice. As it was, the warrior slowly turned in the wake of Trull Sengar's words.
"Pressures and forces are ever in opposition," the Edur was saying as he rotated the spitted hare over the flames. "And the striving is ever towards a balance. This is beyond the gods, of course - it is the current of existence - but no, beyond even that, for existence itself is opposed by oblivion. It is a struggle that encompasses all, that defines every island in the Abyss. Or so I now believe. Life is answered by death. Dark by light. Overwhelming success by catastrophic failure. Horrific curse by breathtaking blessing. It seems the inclination of all people to lose sight of that truth, particularly when blinded by triumph upon triumph. See before me, if you will, this small fire. A modest victory… but if I feed it, my own eager delight is answered, until this entire plain is aflame, then the forest, then the world itself. Thus, an assertion of wisdom here… in the quenching of these flames once this meat is cooked. After all, igniting this entire world will also kill everything in it, if not in flames then in subsequent starvation. Do you see my point, Monok Ochem?"
"I do not, Trull Sengar. This prefaces nothing."
Onrack spoke. "You are wrong, Monok Ochem. It prefaces… everything.''