You know,” he said, “I wish you could see this cave.” “What’s it like?” He paused. “It’s...beautiful, really.” “Tell me.” And so Po described to Katsa what hid in the blackness of the cave; and outside, the world awaited them.
She glanced up at him, and in that moment he pulled his wet shirt over his head. She forced her mind blank. Blank as a new sheet of paper, blank as a starless sky. He came to the fire and crouched before it. He rubbed the water from his bare arms and flicked it in the flames. She stared at the goose and sliced his drumstick carefully and thought of the blankest expression on the blankest face she could possibly imagine. It was a chilly evening; she thought about that. The goose would be delicious, they must eat as much of it as possible, they must not waste it; she thought about that.
We're going to win this war, you know, now that our army's together. But the world doesn't care who wins. It'll go on spinning, no matter how many people are slaughtered." After a moment, he added. "I almost wish it wouldn't, if we aren't allowed to go on spinning with it.
But you're better than I am, Katsa. And it doesn't humiliate me. It humbles me. But it doesn't humiliate me.
What are you grinning at?" Katsa demanded for the third or fourth time. "Is the ceiling about to cave in on my head or something? You look like we're both on the verge of an enormous joke." "Katsa, only you would consider the collapse of the ceiling a good joke.
Hidden yourself in a hole and dared to burden no one with your grievous friendship? I will have friends, Katsa. I will have a life, even though I carry this burden.
Living is too hard right now. Dying is easy. Let me die.
Katsa watched the long grass moving around them. The wind pushed it, attacked it, struck it in one place and then another. It rose and fell and rose again. It flowed, like water.
She would like to restrain from cruelty and receive no admiration for it.
Now we just need to find someone who is close to the king but is really a spy for Mydogg." "That should be easy. I could probably shoot an arrow out the window and hit one.
You're beautiful this morning," Archer said, stopping before her, kissing her nose. "You're impossibly sweet in my shirt." That might be but she felt like death. She would gladly make the trade; how blissful it would be to feel impossibly sweet and look like death.
Part of avoiding thoughts about something was not encouraging opportunities for that something to makes itself felt.
I've always been led to believe that the ultimate goal for an author is the movie deal. Now I understand that the movie deal is merely a MEANS TO A MUCH HIGHER END: NAIL POLISH.
Lady Queen," he said, "You've given me all I want. You're the queen a librarian dreams of.
To Garan's credit, the treatment of Dellian prisoners did change after that. One particularly laconic man, after a session in which Fire learned positively nothing, thanked her for it specifically. "Best dungeons I ever been in," he said, chewing on a toothpick. "Wonderful," Garan grumbled when he had gone. "We'll grow a reputation for our kindness to lawbreakers.
Something caught in her throat at this second thanks, when she'd threatened him so brutally. When you're a monster, she thought, you are thanked and praised for not behaving like a monster. She would like to restrain from cruelty and receive no admiration for it.
How absurd it was that in all seven kingdoms, the weakest and most vulnerable of people - girls, women - went unarmed and were taught nothing of fighting, while the strong were trained to the highest reaches of their skill.
If she was suggesting she was too wise with the weight of her experience to fall prey to infatuation - well, the disproof was sitting before her in the form of a gray-eyed prince with a thoughtful set to his mouth that she found quite distracting.
And of course she understood now why her body wanted to run whenever he appeared. It was a correct instinct, for there was nothing to be got from this but sadness.
You won't even take your bow? Are you planning to throttle a moose with your bare hands, then?
Great seas," he said. "What do you want?" He held the candle up to her face. "Po, what do you want?" "She did a far better job than I would've done.
I'm not such a bad fighter myself," Skye said. Po exploded with laughter. "Oh, fight him, Katsa. Please fight him. I can't imagine a more entertaining diversion.
It humbles me, but it doesn't humiliate me.
He laughed. "I know you're teasing me. And you should know I'm not easily humiliated. You may hunt for my food, and pound me every time we fight, and protect me when we're attacked, if you like. I'll thank you for it.
You're afraid of your own anger.
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