Politically, he leaned toward the teachings of the late Scythe Goddard, for he enjoyed gleaning immensely and saw no reason why that should be a problem for anyone. And then he would end the subject’s life. After all, if a scythe must choose a figure from history to name oneself after, shouldn’t that figure be integrated somehow into the scythe’s life? He would play the lullaby on whatever instrument was convenient, and if there was none available, he would simply hum it. He would choose his subject, restrain him or her, then play a lullaby-Brahms’s lullaby to be exact-the most famous piece of music composed by his Patron Historic. His routine was always the same, though methods varied. He had recently turned the corner again, resetting his physical age back to a spry twenty-five-and now, in his third youth, he found his appetite for gleaning was stronger than ever.
True, the velvet became uncomfortably hot in the summer months, but it was something he had grown accustomed to in his sixty-three years as a scythe. Peach velvet with embroidered baby-blue trim.
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