She'd lost her fury, somewhere, as they'd talked. She didn't feel it anymore. She wished she did, because she preferred it to the emptiness that had settled in its place.

Well, none of it would ever end if she was too afraid for it to begin.

How unjust then to meet that person you love, and be kept away from them only because ones bed is made of hay , and the other, feathers.

It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.

While I was looking the other way your fire went out. Left me with cinders to kick into dust, what a waste of the wonder you were

Are you determined to leave me in this world to live without my heart?

Brigan was saying her name, and he was sending her a feeling. It was courage and strength, and something else too, as if he were standing with her, as if he'd taken her within himself, letting her rest her entire body for a moment on his backbone, her mind in his mind, her heart in the fire of his. The fire of Brigan's heart was astounding. Fire understood, and almost could not believe, that the feeling he was sending her was love.