In youth,' he said, speaking as if from a great distance, 'we believe, and the death of belief forces us to disavow all belief. But that disavowal, time softens, and if we do not believe, we hope. Belief is easier to kill, somehow, and its death easier to bear.

I'm missing something, aren't I?" "Brains", he snapped. "And survival instinct. The Hawklord's been waiting for you for three hours." "Tell him I'm dead.

There wasn't a colloquial phrase, or curse, that went something like, "May your day be full of angry dragons" or, "May every dragon you meet today be pissed off." But, there should have been.

Maybe home is something we have to make, and remake, over and over.

I hate being the only mortal in a gathering full of Immortals who think killing each other cleverly is the height of good manners.

What humans do when they're desperate is just an expression of fear. What they do when they feel safe is a better indication of whether or not you can trust them.

Is this some sort of test?" "Everything that doesn't kill you is." "Mind you," he added, "surviving doesn't always mean you passed.