I do not want to choose which one of you I must love or hate. Here, I am free to do neither. I want no part of your bitterness.

What?" It was a good word. Like a rock in a river, sticking up to let you land on it, so you could make your way across the flow.

Peace, tremulous, unexpected, sent a taproot out of nowhere into Morgan's heart.

That's the beginning of magic. Let your imagination run and follow it.

Epics are never written about libraries. They exist on whim; it depends on if the conquering army likes to read.

Only yesterday a young woman came to me wanting a trap set for a man with a sweet smile and lithe arms. She was a fool, not for wanting him, but for wanting more of him than that.

Branches grew from his hands, his hair. His thoughts tangled like roots in the ground. He strained upward. Pitch ran like tears down his back. His name formed his core; ring upon ring of silence built around it. His face rose high above the forests. Gripped to earth, bending to the wind's fury, he disappeared within himself, behind the hard, wind-scrolled shield of his experiences.