What I Write, If You Have To

One Keeps Searching For Ease, She Did Not Say, And Not Finding It, Till The Memories Of No-pain Seem Only Like Daydreams.

And None At All Has Ridden At The King's Side Since Aerinha, Goddess Of Honor And Flame, First Taught Men To Forge Their Blades. You'd Think Aerinha Would Have Had Better Sense.

Can You Trust Me, He Said. Not Will You. Can You. Can I Trust Him? What Do I Have To Lose?

What I Write, If You Have To Label It, Is Crossover, And I Think That Much Of The Stuff That Is Called Children's Or Ya Is In Fact Crossover And Is Equally Valid For Anyone Who Likes To Read Fantasy.

What You Describe Is How It Happens To Everyone: Magic Does Slide Through You, And Disappear, And Come Back Later Looking Like Something Else. And I'm Sorry To Tell You This, But Where Your Magic Lives Will Always Be A Great Dark Space With Scraps You Fumble For. You Must Learn To Sniff Them Out In The Dark.