Why, Yrael?” it said, as the last of the dark gave way to silver, and the shining sphere of metal sank slowly to the ground. “Why?” “Life,” said Yrael, who was more Mogget than it ever knew. “Fish and fowl, warm sun and shady trees, the field mice in the wheat, under the cool light of the moon.

Being published is not a necessary validation or a path everyone wants to take with their work. Writing—and finishing—a novel is a great thing in itself, whether or not the book is published, or becomes widely-read or not.

Often, I get the feeling that the story is really happening somewhere and all I'm doing is trying to work out the best way to tell it.

While princes do rule the empire, they have to work within certain boundaries, and they're also always in a contest with each other to become the next emperor. And this contest includes actually killing each other, doing anything they can get away with to each other.

I have never known what to tell anybody. Except that it is better to do something than nothing, even if the cost is great.

It's always better to be doing.

Sam picked up his pack, but before he could put it on, Mogget leaped onto it and slid under the top flap. All that could be seen of him were his green eyes and one white-furred ear. "Remember I advised against this way," he instructed. "Wake me when whatever terrible thing is a about to happen happens, or if it appears I might get wet.