The questions came, cruel and cold and sneering; ‘How did it feel to set fire to that monster’s heart?’

Maurevar would say nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak, to not scream. He felt sure that the slightest rise of his own voice, and he would be more beast than man, closing his hands around the unfortunate inquirer’s throat — spurred by his own primal yelling.

Instead, Maurevar let the question follow him. How did it feel? How did it feel to end the heathen?

How did it feel to set fire to the monster’s heart?

Had he the power to speak, Maurevar might have said it had hurt more than he could say.

For he had set fire to his own, and it was ruined.