In a secluded chamber within the royal palace of Vinnacovi, the bastard son of the Great Bull sat perched upon a cushioned chair. Beside him, his father loomed whose royal girth and sheer presence transformed his seat into something more akin to a velvet sofa than a simple chair.
"Is it truly wise to entangle ourselves in matters that do not concern us, Father?" Latio asked,as he turned to his father. "One would think that to pull a weed from one's own garden, a man shouldn't be staring over the fence at another's."
"Stop thinking with such narrow margins," the Great Bull rumbled, his voice a deep bass that seemed to vibrate the floorboards. "There is always more than one path to a single horizon. You can break a kingdom on the field through blood and iron, or you can simply whisper to the right man to slide a knife into the King's ribs.The end the same , the mean is different.
There are direct roads, and there are ghosts' paths."
