Your horse is named Small. Yes. Mine is named Big. -Fire and Brigan

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.

It has been a hard lesson to learn, that greatness requires suffering.

Gratitude takes less energy than anger.

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

What a horrifying notion," he said. "A creature with the power to take over one's mind.

Everyone wants a bit of something beautiful." Clara said. "Among the wealthy it's the rare skins and furs sold on the black market. With everyone else it's whatever they find clogging the gutters or killed in the housetraps. It al amounts to the same thing, of course, but the rich people feel better knowing they've paid a fortune.