You’re crying.” “I’m not.” “Right,” he said mildly. “I suppose you got rained on.

She crossed the room to him, put her arms around him, clung to him, turning her face to the side, learning all at once that it was awkward to show a person all of one's love when one's nose was broken.

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

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

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

I'm not good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away.

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.