Warriors cannot afford to think about death, they must not care about self. As they step out the door to adventures, they must count themselves dead. Nor can they care too much about friendships, for they have already accepted their death. They are warriors only because they have chosen a dangerous path; they have goals and missions, and may be seen anywhere as an enemy, especially if their goals conflict with the goals of powerful people, who are quick to recognise enemies, and have power because they are ruthless.

A warrior carries no arms, but perhaps a coupe-stick to touch the enemy; his weapons are ridicule, taunts, words; for he seeks to humble his enemies with common sense. He would never develop weapons of mass murder, or recommend violence, for violence never changes anything, and his goal is change. If people come with him at times, they are welcome, but must never be necessary, for he or she has no right to endanger others, who may not want to die; who have not made their own decisions.

And a warrior must keep on the move, always appearing elsewhere, or at times disappearing, so that his enemies are always uncertain of his whereabouts, even his existence. He will often be reported as dead, but may in fact still live. Even if he does die, he may not entirely die but lives in those he has touched; they are as dragon’s teeth, and can spring up anywhere, and he looks out of their eyes.

Much of what he knows he cannot tell, so tells a little of everything in many places, scattering his knowledge so that it cannot be found but is spoken of everywhere. If the warrior is a man, he tells some secrets to women; if a woman, she tells some to men. He knows all life is short, a shadow on the water, and tries to deal only in long term change. He knows he is never important, but that there are important things to do past his lifetime, so he seeks to leave messages for the future, messages that will float on the seas of time, roll off a thousand tongues.

He dreams that he has lived or lives, and knows life itself is a dream. A warrior is not an army, nor does he seek an army; he is humble so that he is underestimated or overlooked. He is dangerous only if he wants nothing for himself, so that he lives outside any form of influence; and only so much that he breeds other warriors who are themselves misty, dreamers of the same dream, alone and invisible. He must seek not to change things, but people; and to change them to their advantage; to make the change towards a sane and achievable goal. And even if he only partially succeeds, there he has lived, and his dreams are others’ dreams. Even if his name and work are forgotten, he may live in the concepts of others; they become the dreams of the dreamer, and themselves will pass into dreams.