Sarathan

Paint a line with blood and, standing over it, shake a

nest of spiders good and hard. They fall to this

side of the divide. They fall to that side of the

divide. Thus did the gods fall, taut-legged and ready,

as the heavens trembled, and in the scattering rain

of drifting web — all these dread cut threads of scheming

settling down — skirling now in the winds that roared

sudden, alive and vengeful, to pronounce in tongues

of thunder, the gods were at war.

Slayer of Magic

A history of the Host of Days

Sarathan

(BH UKTpb p.185)