“War,” Maurice signed, his old eyes sad. “That is what he wants. To make you an animal.”
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. War for the Planet of the Apes
“The children are starving,” Maurice signed. “The horses are dead. We cannot run again.” “War,” Maurice signed, his old eyes sad
Caesar had cut him down with his own hands. He had not wept. Ape leaders do not weep where others can see. But when he looked up at the stars through the canopy, he made a vow that silenced the wind. Below, the river churned, gray and swollen
“I will kill him,” Caesar growled, low in his throat. Not a command. A fact.
Caesar turned away from the smoke. His face, half-scarred, half-noble, was a mask of stone.
“Tomorrow, we finish the dirty work. No prisoners. Not even the young.”