What Are Stories For If We Don't

From The Tower Battlements, Dustfinger Looked Down On A Lake As Black As Night, Where The Reflection Of The Castle Swam In A Sea Of Stars. The Wind Passing Over His Unscarred Face Was Cold From The Snow Of The Surrounding Mountains, And Dustfinger Relished Life As If He Were Tasting It For The First Time. The Longing It Brought, And The Desire. All The Bitterness, All The Sweetness, Even If It Was Only For A While, Never For More Than A While, Everything Gained And Lost, Lost And Found Again.

Who Are You?' Mo Looked At The White Women. Then He Looked At Dustfinger's Still Face. Guess.' The Bird Ruffled Up Its Golden Feathers, And Mo Saw That The Mark On Its Breast Was Blood. You Are Death.' Mo Felt The Word Heavy On His Tongue. Could Any Word Be Heavier?

When It Came To Hiding, Even Gwin Had Nothing To Teach Dustfinger. A Strange Sense Of Curiosity Had Always Driven Him To Explore The Hidden, Forgotten Corners Of This And Any Other Place, And All That Knowledge Had Now Come In Useful.

Quite Suddenly Meggie Felt Fear Rise In Her Like Black Brackish Water, She Felt Lost, Terribly Lost, She Felt It In Every Part Of Her. She Didn't Belong Here! What Had She Done?

Which Of Us Has Not Felt That The Character We Are Reading In The Printed Page Is More Real Than The Person Standing Beside Us?