Hadi Atallah

The hero stood before his land, filling his lungs, and history raged and flamed in the back of his eyes, and poetry too, for the hundreds of years of his people’s subjugation were cut deep in him. Now he was trapped as his people were always trapped and would be until he revealed to his people that the things in the books were really in the books. And the music of the davul throbbed in his head and nearly drove out the enemy’s songs.

…No one does less than his best.