Do you want your blood to stay where it is sochar-lar?" Tavi lifted both eyebrows at the unfamiliar word, and glanced at Varg. "Monkey," Varg supplied, in Aleran. "And male-child." "He called me monkey boy?" Tavi asked.

And you've got that look on your face again." "I can't help it, "Ehren said. "You're about to walk to breakfast, arn't you, regardless of who is in the way?" "Yes," Tavi said. Ehren sighed. "Let's hear it." Tavi told him the plan. "That's insane," Ehren said. "It could work." "You arn't going to have anyone come along to bail you out this time," Ehren pointed out. Tavi grinned. "Are you with me?" "The plan is insane," Ehren said. "You are insane." He looked around inside the tent. "I'll need some pants.

Honey, I liked the Harry Potter movies, too, but that doesn’t mean I ran out and got a Dark Mark tattooed onto my left forearm like you did.

I've done smarter things in my life. Once, for example, I threw myself out of a moving car in order to take on a truckload of lycanthropes singlehandedly." ~Harry Dresden

[Mouse is] with us. The dog is a handicap-assist animal." The kid lifted his eyebrows. "My mouth is partially paralyzed," I said. "It makes it hard for me to rea. He's here to help me with the big words. Tell me if I'm supposed to push or pull on doors, that kind of thing.

Your face looks like a sack of purple potatoes

There is a primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares.