Some writers later, describing the events of that night and day, wrote that Wan'yen of the Altai had seen a spirit-dragon of the river and become afraid. Writers do that sort of thing. They like dragons in their tales.

How we remember changes how we have lived. Time runs both ways. We make stories of our lives.

My youngest brother had a wonderful schtick from some time in high school, through to graduating medicine. He had a card in his wallet that read, ‘If I am found with amnesia, please give me the following books to read …’ And it listed half a dozen books where he longed to recapture that first glorious sense of needing to find out ‘what happens next’ … the feeling that keeps you up half the night. The feeling that comes before the plot’s been learned.

By things so achingly small are lives measured and marred.

Eanna love us, Adaon preserve us, Morian guard our souls.

What mortal knew the way their fate line would run?

You have to be afraid for it to count as bravery.