Your friend’s face might prove the mask

the daub found in subtle shift

to alter the once familiar visage.

Or the child who formed unseen

in private darkness as you whiled oblivious

to reveal cruel shock as a stone

through a temple’s pane.

To these there is no armour on the soul.

And upon the mask is writ the bold word,

echoed in the child’s eyes,

a sudden stranger to all you have known.

Such is betrayal.

Death Vigil of Sorulan

Minir Othal

(MoI, UK Trade, p.661)