One Of The Things That Defines Our

I’m Warning You, Stay Back! This Sword Has Magic.' 'magic!' The Dragon Gasped In Mock Fright. It Put A Claw To Its Breast. 'oh, Please, Brave Man, Don’t Slay Me With Your Magic Sword!

His Face Set In Grim Determination, Richard Slogged Ahead, His Fingers Reaching Up To Touch The Tooth Under His Shirt. Loneliness, Deeper Than He Had Never Known, Sagged His Shoulders. All His Friends Were Lost To Him. He Knew Now That His Life Was Not His Own. It Belonged To His Duty, To His Task. He Was The Seeker. Nothing More. Nothing Less. Not His Own Man, But A Pawn To Be Used By Others. A Tool, Same As His Sword, To Help Others, That They Might Have The Life He Had Only Glimpsed For A Twinkling. He Was No Different From The Dark Things In The Boundary. A Bringer Of Death.

Are We Our Bodies? Is A Small Person Less Than A Big Person, Then? If We Were Our Bodies, Then When We Lost An Arm, Or A Leg, Would We Be Less, Would We Begin To Fade From Existence? No. We Are The Same Person. We Are Not Our Bodies; We Are Our Thoughts. As They Form, They Define Who We Are, And Create The Reality Of Our Existence.

Charity, If You Have The Means, Is A Personal Choice, But Charity Which Is Expected Or Compelled Is Simply A Polite Word For Slavery.

The Light Of A New Day Always Chases The Shadows Of The Night Away, And Shows Us That The Shape Of Our Fears Is Only The Ghost Of Our Own Minds.