by Gene Wolfe
The man-wolf was gone as well. The man lay in his place. When I touched him, his beard was stiff with blood, his back bent like trampled grass. His hands thanked me as he died.
"Lucius… " The call came again. It was only then, too late, that I sought for him.
I found him beside the broken eagle. He wore a lion's skin, but a spear had divided his thigh and a dagger had pierced his corselet of bronze scales. The lion was dying. "Lucius… " He used my own speech. "Lucius, is it really you?"
I could only nod, not knowing what to say; as gently as I could, I took his hand.
"How strange are the ways of the gods!" he gasped. "How cruel."
(These are the last words of the first scroll.)
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Document creation date: 19.11.2011
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