He didn't look back. He never did

It formed into small drops on his weather beaten features, drops that rolled down his cheeks. Strangely, some of them tasted like salt.

An ordinary archer practices until he gets it right. A ranger practices until he never gets it wrong.

Svengal lay groaning on the turf. His thighs were sheer agony. His buttocks ached. His calf muscles were on fire. Now, afterhe had tumbled off the small pony he was riding and thudded heavily to the turf on the point of his shoulder, the shoulder would hurt too. He concentrated on trying to find one part of his body that wasn't a giant source of pain and failed miserably. He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the face of the elderly pony that he had been riding peered down at him. Now what made you do a strange thing like that? The creature seemed to be asking.

Horace, who had been trying to find out the meaning of Kurokuma for some time now, was pleased to hear the translation. "Black bear," he repeated. "It's undoubtedly because I'm so terrible in battle." "I'd guess so," Will put in. "I've seen you in battle and you're definitely terrible.

Halt Halt," said Gilan stepping out into the open.

A good leader is someone who knows what he's bad at, and hires someone who's good at it to take care of it for him.