Time being the cruelest of things, Peace be the sire of War. To simple rise and not care. To wake a day and bring Night to another, without cause and without hesitation. To raise a sword and renew a ship, with steel and powder. Load a plank, and seize it neigh, the ship now runs rampant, with Mares of the Night; prowling in circles and thirsty for blood more so than their riders. They ride as Four, and bring the Night of Death, by whistle and Trumpet, by Horn and Glare, do they ride as the Sun sets, and as the Moon rises.