I should have known the power-hungry slave drivers at River's Edge would see my five days of freedom only as a challenge to be filled.

Women are impossible, witches are worse, and women who are powerful witches are going to be the death of me.

You're not honey. Your'e wine. You're the deepest, darkest shadow under a tree on a blazing day. You're strong and hard, coursing like a current at the bottom of a river.

Of course, when we got home, we found that Dagda had peed on my down comforter. He had also eaten part of Mom's maidenhair fern and barfed it up on the carpet. Then he had apparently worked himself into a frenzy sharpening his ting by amazingly effective claws on the armrest of my dad's favorite chair. Now he was asleep on a pillow, curled up like a fuzzy little snail. "God, he's so cute," I said, shaking my head.

There are no coincidences. And everything means something.

Men are natural warriors, but a woman in battle is truly bloodthirsty

Everything is fine and bright. Day must follow every night. My power keeps me safe from harm. The Goddess holds me in her arms.