Through an arrow loop in the wall she saw a familiar horse and rider tearing across the camp toward the healing rooms. Brigan pulled up at Nash's feet and dropped from the saddle. The two brothers threw their arms around each other and embraced hard. Shortly thereafter he stepped into the healing rooms and leaned in the doorway, looking across at her quietly. Brocker's son with the gentle gray eyes. She abandoned all pretense of decorum and ran at him.

Fire sat unbreathing. A life that was an apology for the life of his father: It was a notion she could understand, beyond words and thought. She understood it the way she understood music.

He made her drunk, this man made her drunk; and every time his eyes flashed into hers she could not breathe.

Part of avoiding thoughts about something was not encouraging opportunities for that something to makes itself felt.

Location: Amsterdam, Where Fire Is Called "Vlam

Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder.

Still doing your best to ruin the horses, I see.