This may be my only chance to see humans before these two are made into fertilizer for Moonwind's rosebushes.

free time is an illusion. It's what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight.

One of the things I strive for is realism. I need to be as real as possible in the dilemmas my characters face.

I was stark raving mad, and my family was too polite to mention it. That's what living with the Yamanis does to people. They get so well-mannered they won't mention you're crazy.

No one expects a woman busy at her sewing to pay attention to what’s being said around her. Nevermind if a man’s mother and sister showerd them they heard everything while they stictched, he’ll still think a woman who plies her needles saves all her brains for the work. You’re a far better spy hemming sheets than if you clank with daggers.

She rides as a man, goes unveiled as a man, fights as a man. Let her prove herself worthy as a man, worthy of her weapons and of our friendship.

If we pick a fight, then we're just as bad as them. Combat should be used just to help people who can't defend themselves, period." "Well, if I don't fight back and they pound on me, then I'm one of the people I should be defending.