The piebald mare paws at the sand; I see her digging out of the corner of my eye and hear her grinding her teeth. That bridle's her curse, this island her prison. She still smells of rot.
Maggie StiefvaterPeppermint swirled into my nostrils, sharp as glass, then raspberry almost to sweet, like too-ripe fruit. Apple, crisp and pure. Nuts, buttery, warm, earthy
Maggie StiefvaterSam, I really want to buy a red coffee pot, if they exist," Grace said. "I'll find you one
Maggie Stiefvater