Well now, Jack," Hastings said from the sidelines. "I'm afraid you've been beheaded. Not a good start." He sounded amused.

I have lost everything, Han thought. Then he corrected himself. Every time I think I’ve lost everything, I find there’s still something else to lose.

He keeps this up, he's bound to be caught, she thought. And this time they'll dangle him for certain.

Han spotted a child‟s homespun dolly in the ditch, pressed into the mud. He reined in, meaning to climb down and fetch it so he could clean it up for his little sister. Then he remembered that Mari was dead and had no need of dollies anymore. Grief was like that. It gradually faded into a dull ache, until some simple sight or sound or scent hit him like a hammer blow.

He would find a way to make it work, because he finally understood that sometimes you have to raise your expectations. And sometimes you need to make a claim on the world and the people you love to get what you most desire

Do not forget duty. But choose love when you can.

A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.