I sat on the hill, the wind whispering through the long grass that surrounded me. I stared at the stars and wanted more than what I was and more than what the world was and just - wanted.

The fact was, I didn't know if I was built for happy endings.

There doesn't seem like there should be an artful way to butcher a cow, but there is, and this is not it.

I was trying to decide if you still had free will as a wolf. If I was a terrible person for planning to drug my girlfriend and drag her back to my house to keep in the basement.

Have you heard of the legends of sleeping kings? The legends that heroes like Llewellyn and Glendower and Arthur aren’t really dead, but are instead sleeping in tombs, waiting to be woken?

I'd learned a long time ago that one of the finest weapons in my arsenal was my ability to invade personal space

Overhead, the stars were wheeling and infinite, a complicated mobile made by giants.