You'd never killed anyone. Then you had.

Writing is never, ever easy but I wake up every morning grateful for the gift of being able to do this.

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

A hand fought best when it made a fist.

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

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. 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.