There's always another storm. It's the way the world works. Snowstorms, rainstorms, windstorms, sandstorms, and firestorms. Some are fierce and others are small. You have to deal with each one separately, but you need to keep an eye on whats brewing for tomorrow.

We are searching for the same thing,” Stripey said. “How do you know?” Janco asked. “I read his mind.” The Sitian pointed to Ari. “Yours was too…chaotic. Too many useless thoughts to wade through.” A compliment or an insult? Janco guessed compliment and preened.

I know I hated magic for a reason," Janco said. "Congratulations. This is the first time you've had a VALID reason to hate something," Ari countered. "Remember your campaign against sand?" "Sand! Horrid little stuff. Gets everywhere. I had a perfectly good argue--" "Janco." Ari's voice rumbled deep in his throat. In a heartbeat, Janco switched gears. "Well, this blood magic sounds worse than sand.

It’s your fault. I was defending you!” I blurted. He paused. “In protecting my honor, you exposed months of work. I should be flattered?

You could change into a goat and it would still apply.

Being a scrub was undesirable and hard work, living in crowded conditions with no privacy and just being one of many. Undistinguishable.

My mind’s screaming went unvoiced. Logic grabbed the panic and wrestled it to the ground.