#Just put a scene like this somewhere in the cosmere In the next two decades okay brandon trust me

[nevertheless-moving]

"Fornication," Wit whispered, staring with haunted eyes at nothing. "That's not Rayse at all. He stole - that reproducing bastard. He stole my breaths."

The rage in the generally amicable man's voice was enough to dissuade Kaladin from asking about the bizarre word choice.

Shallan, evidently, did not have that problem.

"Fornication?" she repeated incredulously.

"It's a curse word," Wit said through gritted teeth. "Used to be common, but it's fallen out of favor among shardplanets the last several thousand years for some stupid CHILD CREATING reason."

Wit snarled, pacing the tent furiously.

"Which is a real PLEASURABLE PHYSICAL INTERACTION shame because now i sound really copulatingly stupid swearing with connection based direct translations, but cursing by 'Gods' or the dead or the weather or whatever intense intimacy else this vigorous impregnation planet swears by is NOT as satisfying when i am this LOVEMAKINGLY angry."

Wit kicked a chair, which flew with shocking force, tearing a hole in sturdy canvas siding. He stared at the tear, exhausted, then collapsed, arms wrapping around himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Jasnah, who was approaching cautiously, in full Armour. "I shouldn't have done that. I generally don't have enough of a temper to lose it like that, but...gender neutral attempt at babies. He stole my breaths. I don't even know how much I lost...it will take decades to do an inventory, and even then...there's important secrets I vowed to protect. Lost people I swore to remember. Oaths I can't even properly remember making anymore, but I have to - I..."

Jasnah knelt down, taking Wit in her arms as he wept softly.

"And I can't even coitally curse right anymore," he sobbed.