-As thee crouch'd down by a riv'r, cleaning thy blood'd axe from a previous battleth, thee couldn’t holp but wond'r if 't be true t wast w'rth t. If 't be true the moth'rs thee hath left without a issue wouldst truly cullionly something, and if 't be true thy state wouldst not furth'r det'ri'rate from the war. Suddenly, thee hath heard the dark, gravely voice of thy fellow soldi'r, macbeth behind thee, watching thee.-“what art thee doing?”