Tayend nodded. “I know it won’t. I admit I was worried about you, but you are still your old self, underneath.” Dannyl straightened in protest. “Underneath what?” The Elyne stood up, waving one hand in Dannyl’s direction. “All…that.” “I’m reeling at your descriptive clarity,” Dannyl told him.



Great. She shook her head. Not only am I having conversations with myself, but now I'm refusing to talk to me. This has got to be the first sign of madness.

If your appearance is all people see, they have no respect for your mind.

The Magicians Apprentice was about someone from the low end of society manifesting magical power and how that completely messes up the balance of the whole system.

It is said, in Imardin, that the wind has a soul, and that it wails through the narrow streets because it is grieved by what it finds there.

Mortals did not need gods to order them to kill eachother. They were quite capable of finding reasons to do so themselves.

It was impossible to imagine the aloof, dignified, powerful High Lord living as, of all things, a slave.