Airar went sick in the realization that war was no dainty sport he had been taught, but horror and pain and the death of friends.
Now you do unconvince me. No need for all these flowers if you're sincere; only falsity needs poetry.
Spare me your musings. You had hoped, I doubt not, that once Count Vulk were down, the world were paradise. Not so; you that think to war and die for some high purpose will fall for less than nothing, since other Vulks with other names will always rise. For that, how dare you name these men rascals? The Dalarna you desire may be as desperate to them as theirs to you.