“I will kill him,” Caesar growled, low in his throat. Not a command. A fact.
Caesar did not answer. His mind was no longer a place of strategy or hope. It had become a dark cave, and at the back of that cave sat a single, glowing ember: revenge.
Maurice, the wise orangutan, placed a heavy hand on Caesar’s shoulder. War for the Planet of the Apes
Caesar turned away from the smoke. His face, half-scarred, half-noble, was a mask of stone.
The War for the Planet of the Apes had not begun with a battle. It began with a father walking into the rain, carrying a spear he had sharpened on the grave of his son. “I will kill him,” Caesar growled, low in his throat
And on the human side of the river, the Colonel lit a cigar, looked at the dark forest, and whispered to his radioman:
The rain fell harder. The world held its breath. Caesar did not answer
The night before, they had found the body of his eldest son, Blue Eyes. He had been sent to scout a northern passage. The humans had not just killed him. They had posed him. Tied to a cross of splintered pine, facing east—toward the rising sun, toward the hope he had been seeking.