Boys,' she says, 'just aren't very good at being afraid.

It's all you think about, all you talk about, and all you want us to talk about. What in the world would we call something like that? Oh, yeah! An obsession!

I fell asleep to the scent of my wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earthy perfume, coarse bristles on my face.

sloughing my skin / escaping it's grip / stripped of my wit / it hurts to be me .

I was wild and tame and pulled into shreds and crushed into being all at once.

Sam looked at me, yellow eyes catching and holding me. "I miss being me. I miss you. All the time.

When does it happen?" "It already has," Calla replied. Her eyes opened and fixed on Blue. "And it hasn't yet. Time' circular, chicken. We use the same parts of it over and over. Some of us more than others.