The Errant bends fate,

As unseen armour

Lifting to blunt the blade

On a field sudden

With battle, and the crowd

Jostles blind their eyes gouged out

By the strait of these affairs

Where dark fools dance on tiles

And chance rides a spear

With red bronze

To spit worlds like skulls

One upon the other

Until the seas pour down

To thicken metal-clad hands

So this then is the Errant

Who guides every fate

Unerring

Upon the breast of men.

The Casting of Tiles

Ceda Ankaran Qan (1059 Burn’s Sleep)

(MT, UK Trade, p.153)