I know that I am birdlike, made narrow and small as if for taking flight, built straight-waisted and fragile. But when he touches me like he can't bear to take his hand away, I don't wish I was any different.

Not writing is as important as writing - go out into the world and remember how interesting it, and the people in it, are.

Sleep,” he says. “I'll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you.” “With what?” “My bare hands, obviously.

I forget that he is another person; instead it feels like he is another part of me, just as essential as a heart or an eye or an arm.

You look older.” “Yes, well. The passage of time tends to do that to a person.

But now I know how large the world is... Well. I suppose I have grown to large out of my faction. As a consequence.

She walks away, and I am too stunned to follow her. At the end of the hallways she turns and says, "Have a piece of cake for me, all right? The chocolate. It's delicious." She smiles a strange, twisted smile, and adds," I love you, you know." And then she's gone. I stand alone in the blue light coming from the lamp above me, and I understand: She has been to the compound before. She remembered this hallways. She knows about the initiation process. My mother was a dauntless.