People died in different ways. Some, like the elders I remembered in my village, faded from life like cloth left out in the sun. They shriveled, graceful or grotesque, depending on your point of view.

Others died violently. I had seen the king's body, the grey surprise still etched on his stiff and bulbous face. That sort of death scared me, but not because of its violence. Life was violent, death had a sort of peace to it--no, I was afraid of the shock, the realization that one was ...