So in the sweltering heat of a July night, I sang a Christmas carol to a room full of fae, who had been driven out of their homelands by Christians and their cold-iron swords.
Patricia BriggsTis the gift to be gentle, โtis the gift to be fair, โTis the gift to wake and breathe the morning air, To walk every day in the path that we choose, Is the gift that we pray we will never never lose.
Patricia BriggsBen rubbed his muzzle over Kyleโs shoulder in a way that I think was supposed to be reassuring. Kyle sucked in a breath. Either it hurt, or the reminder that the werewolf was big enough to rub his shoulder without much effort wasnโt exactly reassuring. โBen, when was the last time you brushed your teeth?โ asked Kyle. Or else Benโs breath was really bad.
Patricia Briggs