

“The final sound of the rifle shot bounced around the lake.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“Because diseases have been the biggest killers of people, they have also been decisive shapers of history. Until World War II, more victims of war died of war-borne microbes than of battle wounds.”
― Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies
― Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies

“Heidi's role as grand master was to monitor all the women and to manage their locations and communication. Even though she’d done this many times on multiple missions, her heartbeat still pounded in her ears.”
― Trouble on Main Street
― Trouble on Main Street

“Rest you here, enchanter, while the light fades,
Vision narrows, and the far
Sky-edge is gone with the sun.
Be content with the small spark
Of the coal, the smell
Of food, and the breath
Of frost beyond the shut door.
Home is here, and familiar things;
A cup, a wooden bowl, a blanket,
Prayer, a gift for the god, and sleep.
(And music, says the harp, And music.)
Rest here, enchanter, while the fire dies.
In a breath, in an eyelid's fall,
You will see them, the dreams;
The sword and the young king,
The white horse and the running water,
The lit lamp and the boy smiling.
Dreams, dreams, enchanter! Gone with the harp's echo
when the strings
Fall mute; with the flame's shadow when the fire
Dies.
Be still, and listen.
Far on the black air Blows the great wind, rises
The running tide, flows the clear river.
Listen, enchanter, hear
Through the black air and the singing air
The music….”
―
Vision narrows, and the far
Sky-edge is gone with the sun.
Be content with the small spark
Of the coal, the smell
Of food, and the breath
Of frost beyond the shut door.
Home is here, and familiar things;
A cup, a wooden bowl, a blanket,
Prayer, a gift for the god, and sleep.
(And music, says the harp, And music.)
Rest here, enchanter, while the fire dies.
In a breath, in an eyelid's fall,
You will see them, the dreams;
The sword and the young king,
The white horse and the running water,
The lit lamp and the boy smiling.
Dreams, dreams, enchanter! Gone with the harp's echo
when the strings
Fall mute; with the flame's shadow when the fire
Dies.
Be still, and listen.
Far on the black air Blows the great wind, rises
The running tide, flows the clear river.
Listen, enchanter, hear
Through the black air and the singing air
The music….”
―

“You won’t throw up. Unless you’re allergic to lemon root… but let’s not worry about that now.”
― The Last Lumenian
― The Last Lumenian
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