Dear Brigan, she thought to herself. People want incongruous, impossible things. Horses do, too.

There's no shame in crawling when one can't walk.

She didn't want to go far, just out of the trees so she could see the stars. They always eased her loneliness. She thought of them as beautiful creatures, burning and cold; each solitary, and bleak, and silent like her.

Things don't ever stay the same. Natural beginnings come to natural or unnatural ends.

If I'd been trying to kill him, he'd be dead.

Your eyes are beautiful," he said, and she felt warm suddenly, warm in the sun that dappled through the treetops and rested on them in patches.

Men are daft around women, incautious and boastful.