This World Has Need Of Song And

Love Thy Enemies, It Says In The Scriptures. My Foster Mother Always Added, "at The Very Least, You Will Be Polite To Them.

If She Know How Strongly He Felt, She'd Have Run Out The Door. He Wasn't Used To The Possessive, Or The Savage Joy She Brought To His Heart. It Ate At His Control, So He Turned His Attention To The Music. He Understood Music.

It Was Complicated. I Understood It, Mostly, But I Had To Think A Little Sideways To Do It.

Pack Is For Comfort When You Hurt, I Thought, Putting My Head Back Down. And For The First Time In A Long Time, Maybe The First Time Ever, I Appreciated Being A Part Of One.

Charles Was Most Comfortable By Himself Or, If That Wasn't Possible, With His Pack In The Wild. Talking For Hours In A Crowded Auditorium Was Not On Any List Of Things He Enjoyed—or Things He Was Good At. At Least No One Had Died. Yet.