What mortal knew the way their fate line would run?

Words were power, words tried to change you, to shape bridges of longing that no one could ever really cross.

There was some sadness in how that could happen, falling out of love with something that had shaped you. Or even people who had.

Ice is for death and endings.

As many have noted, the peril for authors is that our work space is too easily our play space.

One man sees a riselka: his life forks there. Two men see a riselka: one of them shall die. Three men see a riselka: one is blessed, one forks, one shall die.

A hand fought best when it made a fist.