"I suggested to Malky that there might be some things men should not invent." Off to the west, there was the river, the plantations. Leto could feel the man drawing away, no longer content to march beside his Lord's cowled face, no longer trying to match himself to his master's destiny. Moneo moved as he had always moved, one foot ahead of another, aware of the ground where he would place each step, but there was something new in the majordomo. It turned now to begin the climb onto Ringwall West. The procession had come off the first gentle incline. Leto looked away from her and focused on Moneo's back, the motions of the majordomo, the tucked-in pretenses of secrecy so apparent there. He taught me that there was a reason for running away from inventions." And although he denied it, he spoke the truth. ![]() The trembling of his hands could be felt all through his front segment. He broke from her gaze, fearful of what she might say. You fear to share this, yet you want to share it more than anything else." "You area mystic," she said, "gentle to yourself only because you are in the middle of that universe looking outward, looking in ways that others cannot. "Love, that is what you understand," she said. I feel that it's important for me to know." ![]() "But I have seen my Lord Leto, whose soul I love, and I know the only thing that you truly understand." "I have no inner eye, no inner voices," she said. "Of course I do They can invent catastrophe." He sensed the burning and was thankful for the pain. When the tears touched his cowl, wisps of blue smoke erupted. History is a constant race between invention and catastrophe.
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