And If My Choice Is To Sit

I Almost Wish I'd Had The Forethought To Eat A Tree Myself.

The Magic In That Country Was So Thick And Tenacious That It Settled Over The Land Like Chalk-dust And Over Floors And Shelves Like Slightly Sticky Plaster-dust. (housecleaners In That Country Earned Unusually Good Wages.) If You Lived In That Country, You Had To De-scale Your Kettle Of Its Encrustation Of Magic At Least Once A Week, Because If You Didn't, You Might Find Yourself Pouring Hissing Snakes Or Pond Slime Into Your Teapot Instead Of Water.

What Was She To Say? "the Prodigal Has Returned? The Mutineer Wishes To Be Reinstated? The Subordinate, Having Gone To A Great Deal Of Trouble To Prove Her Commander Wrong, Has Come Back And Promises To Be A Good Little Subordinate Hereafter, Or At Least Until Next Time?

And None At All Has Ridden At The King's Side Since Aerinha, Goddess Of Honor And Flame, First Taught Men To Forge Their Blades. You'd Think Aerinha Would Have Had Better Sense.

I Long For Another Human Face Just As I Fear It.