Vella Looked Around. "this Is Really A

Zakath's Face Grew Thoughtful. "you Know Something, Garion?" He Said. "man Thinks He Owns The World, But We Share It With All Sorts Of Creatures Who Are Indifferent To Our Overlordship. They Have Their Own Societies, And I Supposed Even Their Own Cultures. They Don't Even Pay Attention To Us, Do You?" "only When We Inconvenience Them...it Teaches Us Humility," Garion Agreed.

I Taught In A Small Teacher's College For Three Or Four Years, At Which Point All The Administrators Got A Pay Raise And The Teaching Faculty Didn't.

Contemporary Fantasists All Bow Politely To Lord Tennyson And Papa Tolkien, Then Step Around Them To Go Back To The Original Texts For Inspiration--and There Are A Lot Of Those Texts. We Have King Arthur And His Gang In English; We've Got Siegfried And Brunhild In German; Charlemagne And Roland In French; El Cid In Spanish; Sigurd The Volsung In Icelandic; And Assorted 'myghtiest Knights On Lyfe' In A Half-dozen Other Cultures. Without Shame, We Pillage Medieval Romance For All We're Worth.

Now What?” Urgit Warily Asked His Bride-to-be. “am I Disturbing Your Majesty?” Prala Asked. “…you Always Disturb Me, My Beloved,” He Answered Her Question, Spreading His Arms Extravagantly.

As Soon As Somebody Falls In Love, All The Wits Seem To Dribble Out Of The Bottom Of His Head.