Crying into your firewhiskey, eh? Never did like whingers. Ought to be thanking Him, you ask me. Why regret? Never regret the scourge and the keen edge of knives, and the pure cleansing flame. Your job is to harvest the grain from the chaff. Why trouble yourself if the chaff blows away in the wind?

Red looks best in moonlight, or by candleflame. A professional would appreciate that, but no, He sends you.

Perhaps He'll send you here for real training up. Seeing as my property has been taken. Could use an assistant, now that I'm back among the pigeons. Find I miss having a devoted bootlicker about.

But perhaps that's why He keeps you.