This time of year, I live and breathe the beach. My cheeks feel raw with the wind throwing sand against them. My thighs sting from the friction of the saddle. My arms ache from holding up two thousand pounds of horse. I have forgotten what it is like to be warm and what a full nightโs sleep feels like and what my name sounds like spoken instead of shouted across yards of sand. I am so, so alive.
Maggie StiefvaterHave you heard of the legends of sleeping kings? The legends that heroes like Llewellyn and Glendower and Arthur arenโt really dead, but are instead sleeping in tombs, waiting to be woken?
Maggie StiefvaterThere's a tap on the door then. We all exchange looks, Tommy Falk's as uncertain as the rest of ours. No one moves, so I finally wipe my hands off on my pants, go to the door, and open it a crack. Sean stands on the other side, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other holding a loaf of bread. I wasn't prepared for it to be Sean, so my stomach does a neat little trick that feels like either hunger or escaping.
Maggie StiefvaterIf that moment had been a real thing, it would've been a butterfly, flapping and fluttering toward the sun.
Maggie Stiefvater