“I will kill him,” Caesar growled, low in his throat. Not a command. A fact.
The rain did not wash away the sins. It only made them colder.
Caesar turned away from the smoke. His face, half-scarred, half-noble, was a mask of stone. War for the Planet of the Apes
“Then I will give him war,” he said. “But not his war. Mine.”
Caesar stopped at the edge of a cliff. Below, the river churned, gray and swollen. On the far bank, a column of black smoke rose from a burned-out Ape stronghold. His ears, still sharp despite the tinnitus of a thousand gunfights, caught the distant chatter of human voices. Laughter. They were laughing. “I will kill him,” Caesar growled, low in his throat
The night before, they had found the body of his eldest son, Blue Eyes. He had been sent to scout a northern passage. The humans had not just killed him. They had posed him. Tied to a cross of splintered pine, facing east—toward the rising sun, toward the hope he had been seeking.
The rain fell harder. The world held its breath. The rain did not wash away the sins
“War,” Maurice signed, his old eyes sad. “That is what he wants. To make you an animal.”