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- Xantcha swallowed her shock. Urza had long admitted that she was better at scenting out Phyrexians, but he'd never hinted how much better, and she'd never tried to put the distinctions into words, any words from any language, including Phyrexian. "This is a priest-" she nudged the wreckage with her foot-"because it looks like a priest."
- "That's not an answer," Ratepe chided.
- "I'm not finished!"
- Xantcha got on her knees and with her good hand attempted to loosen the Phyrexian's triangular face-plate. It was a struggle. The tenders had compleated it carefully, and it had recently received a generous allocation of glistening oil to bind what remained of its flesh to its metal carapace.
- ***
- Urza snapped the wreck's left arm at the shoulder with no more apparent effort than she'd need to break a twig. He angled it this way and that in the sun as glistening oil poured over his hand.
- "Do sleepers know what they are?" Yet another question from Ratepe.
- ***
- Planeswalker, Chapter 17
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