They knew the peril he faced this day. Each Fremen had faced it. They gave him this last few moments of isolation now that he might prepare himself.
It must be done today, he told himself.
He thought of the power he wielded in the face of the pogrom ā the old men who sent their sons to him to be trained in the weirding way of battle, the old men who listened to him now in council and followed his plans, the men who returned to pay him that highest Fremen compliment: 'Your plan worked, Muad'Dib.'
Yet the meanest and smallest of the Fremen warriors could do a thing that he had never done. And Paul knew his leadership suffered from the omnipresent knowledge of this difference between them.
He had not ridden the maker.
Dune, by Frank Herbert (1965)

















