You'd never killed anyone. Then you had.

The world could bring you poison in a jewelled cup, or surprising gifts. Sometimes you didn't know which of them it was.

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. One woman sees a riselka: her path comes clear to her.  Two women see a riselka: one of them shall bear a child.  Three women see a riselka: one is blessed, one is clear, one shall bear a child.

I have always argued, in a good novel, interesting things happen to interesting people.

The military preferred - invariably - those who could be readily defined, assigned roles, understood, and controlled.

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

She had been a solitary child, and then solitary as a woman, drawn into an orbit of her own that took her away from others, even those who would be her friends.