The Spoken Word Is Nothing. It Hardly

From The Tower Battlements, Dustfinger Looked Down On A Lake As Black As Night, Where The Reflection Of The Castle Swam In A Sea Of Stars. The Wind Passing Over His Unscarred Face Was Cold From The Snow Of The Surrounding Mountains, And Dustfinger Relished Life As If He Were Tasting It For The First Time. The Longing It Brought, And The Desire. All The Bitterness, All The Sweetness, Even If It Was Only For A While, Never For More Than A While, Everything Gained And Lost, Lost And Found Again.

Women Were Different, No Doubt About It. Men Broke So Much More Quickly. Grief Didn't Break Women. Instead It Wore Them Down, It Hollowed Them Out Very Slowly.

Her Curiosity Was Too Much For Her. She Felt Almost As If She Could Hear The Books Whispering On The Other Side Of The Half-open Door. They Were Promising Her A Thousand Unknown Stories, A Thousand Doors Into Worlds She Had Never Seen Before.

Killing Is Easy," Said Mo, "dying Is Harder.

I Wish You Luck,' She Said, Kissing Him On The Cheek. He Still Had The Most Beautiful Eyes Of Any Boy She'd Ever Seen. But Now Her Heart Beat So Much Faster For Someone Else.