You'd never killed anyone. Then you had.

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

After a while, you start to realize that you should write a book you would want to read. I try to write a book I would enjoy.

I will not say I am sorry, but I can tell you that I grieve.

We worship…the powers that speak to our souls, if it seems they do. We do so knowing there is more to the world, and the half-world, and perhaps worlds beyond, than we can grasp. We always knew that. We can’t even stop children from dying, how would we presume to understand the truth of things? Behind things? Does the presence of one power deny another? [p. 176]

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.

Ice is for death and endings.