Males Are The Most Incomprehensible Species.

The Handwriting Was A Girl’s. I Mean, You Can Tell. That Enchanted Cursive.

The Desert Adapts. The People Adapt. Live. Die. Struggle. Suffer. Create. The People In The Real World Beyond Demesne's Ring Are Not All Manufactured Perfection. They Deal.

I Was Horribly Bookish, To The Point Of Coming Right Out And Saying It, Which I Knew Was Not Socially Acceptable.

Usually My Characters, Though Young, Tend To Be Street-wise.

Do You Want To Guess What's In Here?" I Asked Dash. "i Think I've Got It Figured Out Already. There's A New Supply Of Red Notebooks In There, And You Want Us To Fill Them In With Clues About The Works Of, Say, Nicholas Sparks." "who?" I Asked. Please, No More Broody Poets. I Couldn't Keep Up. "you Don't Know Who Nicholas Sparks Is?" Dash Asked. I Shook My Head. "please Don't Ever Find Out," He Said.