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“I need you, Teft,” Kaladin said.
“I said—”
“Not your food. You. Your loyalty. Your allegiance.”
The older man continued to eat. He didn’t have a slave brand, and neither did Rock. Kaladin didn’t
know their stories. All he knew was that these two had helped when others hadn’t. They weren’t
completely beaten down.
“Teft—” Kaladin began.
“I’ve given my loyalty before,” the man said. “Too many times now. Always works out the same.”
“Your trust gets betrayed?” Kaladin asked softly.
Teft snorted. “Storms, no. I betray it. You can’t depend on me, son. I belong here, as a
bridgeman.”
“I depended on you yesterday, and you impressed me.”
“Fluke.”
“I’ll judge that,” Kaladin said. “Teft, we’re all broken, in one way or another. Otherwise we
wouldn’t be bridgemen. I’ve failed. My own brother died because of me.”
“So why keep caring?”
“It’s either that or give up and die.”
“And if death is better?”
It came back to this problem. This was why the bridgemen didn’t care if he helped the wounded or
not.
“Death isn’t better,” Kaladin said, looking Teft in the eyes. “Oh, it’s easy to say that now. But when
you stand on the ledge and look down into that dark, endless pit, you change your mind. Just like
Hobber did. Just like I’ve done.” He hesitated, seeing something in the older man’s eyes. “I think you’ve
seen it too.”
“Aye,” Teft said softly. “Aye, I have.”
“So, are you with us in this thing?” Rock said, squatting down.
Us? Kaladin thought, smiling faintly.
Teft looked back and forth between the two of them. “I get to keep my food?”
“Yes,” Kaladin said.
Teft shrugged. “All right then, I guess. Can’t be any harder than sitting here and having a staring
contest with mortality.”
― The Way of Kings
“I said—”
“Not your food. You. Your loyalty. Your allegiance.”
The older man continued to eat. He didn’t have a slave brand, and neither did Rock. Kaladin didn’t
know their stories. All he knew was that these two had helped when others hadn’t. They weren’t
completely beaten down.
“Teft—” Kaladin began.
“I’ve given my loyalty before,” the man said. “Too many times now. Always works out the same.”
“Your trust gets betrayed?” Kaladin asked softly.
Teft snorted. “Storms, no. I betray it. You can’t depend on me, son. I belong here, as a
bridgeman.”
“I depended on you yesterday, and you impressed me.”
“Fluke.”
“I’ll judge that,” Kaladin said. “Teft, we’re all broken, in one way or another. Otherwise we
wouldn’t be bridgemen. I’ve failed. My own brother died because of me.”
“So why keep caring?”
“It’s either that or give up and die.”
“And if death is better?”
It came back to this problem. This was why the bridgemen didn’t care if he helped the wounded or
not.
“Death isn’t better,” Kaladin said, looking Teft in the eyes. “Oh, it’s easy to say that now. But when
you stand on the ledge and look down into that dark, endless pit, you change your mind. Just like
Hobber did. Just like I’ve done.” He hesitated, seeing something in the older man’s eyes. “I think you’ve
seen it too.”
“Aye,” Teft said softly. “Aye, I have.”
“So, are you with us in this thing?” Rock said, squatting down.
Us? Kaladin thought, smiling faintly.
Teft looked back and forth between the two of them. “I get to keep my food?”
“Yes,” Kaladin said.
Teft shrugged. “All right then, I guess. Can’t be any harder than sitting here and having a staring
contest with mortality.”
― The Way of Kings
“One can have a wit, but not a witless”
― The Way of Kings
― The Way of Kings
“Expectations were like fine pottery. The harder you held them, the more likely they were to crack.”
― The Way of Kings
― The Way of Kings
“What did you put in the fire?" Kaladin said. "To make that special smoke?"
"Nothing. It was just and ordinary fire."
"But, I saw-"
"What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind."
"What does the story mean, then?"
"It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.”
― The Way of Kings
"Nothing. It was just and ordinary fire."
"But, I saw-"
"What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind."
"What does the story mean, then?"
"It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.”
― The Way of Kings
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