Where is my son?
Where is Crota, your lord, your princely god, your godly prince?
Tell me no lies!
I feel his absence like a hole in my
Where once his tender tribute whetted burrowed mouths,
Now only hunger remains.
Hear me, O waning stars, O tattered rags of Sky —
I will stopper up this tearing gulf
Dearest Eris, Crota's Bane (now we shall see how well you wear that title!),
It's not all bad.
Yes, the father of all your burdens comes to you with hate on his sword and hunger in his heart. But don't look at it that way. Did you not, when you lost your sight, gain another?
Sharpen your intentions. When life is strength and strength is death, what is death, if not hope?
You just have to reach out and take it.