I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.
The rainy Pleiads wester Orion plunges prone, And midnight strikes and hastens, And I lie down alone.
My heart is sand and Orion's cruel tide has washed it away from me, scattered it, lost it.
"I live for agressive action!" thundered Orion squeakily, which was unusual. "Oh, how I pray that dragon will turn round that I may smite it." "Smite it with what?" wondered Foaly. "Your secret birthmark?" "Don't you mock my birthmark, which I may or may not have.
Orion sniffed. "Good. Then, worthy centaur, perhaps you could give me a ride to the village on your way back. Then I can make a few pennies wth my verses while you build us a shack and perform circus tricks for passersby." This was such a surprising statement that Foaly briefly considered jumping into the hole to get away.
Orion nodded, then asked, “Dwarf cheese?” “Cheese made by dwarfs.” “Oh,” said Orion, relieved. “They make it. It’s not actually . . .” “No. What a horrible thought.” “Exactly.