Wind does not need translation. It speaks the language of men, of animals and birds, of rocks and trees and earth and sky and water. It does not eat or sleep, or take shelter from the weather. It is the weather. And it lives.

Oliver's heart tried to pound its way out of his ribcage, but he ignored it. "I'm in love with Petunia," he announced. "And I want to help her.

I already have a plan." Celie said, raising her hand as she would with her tutor. "Do you?" Rolf's eyes gleamed. "What is it?" "I don't think you'll like it, Lilah." Celie apologized straightaway. "It involves manure...a great deal of manure." Rolf started to laugh again.

I've faced worse than a dressmaker who breaths fire.

She [Pansy] pushed in next to Poppy so that she could see him around the guard's elbow. She was as tall as Poppy, with shining dark-brown hair and blue eyes. An utterly lovely girl, as all the princesses were, yet Oliver thought Petunia was far more beautiful.

Kestilan?" There was that name again. Oliver fought down an irrational surge of jealousy for this mysterious being who took up so much of Petunia's attention.

What does it say? Does he love you madly?