Bec

Bran,” I sob. “You have to go.” He just smiles. “Bran! You must!” Again the smile. He won't leave. He'll be my faithful friend forever. He'd rather die by my side than skip free without me. I return the smile. “Very well,” I sigh and reach out a hand. Bran takes it, expecting only my touch. But what he gets on top of that is the last of my magic. A swift, improvised spell. I reach into his mind and send an image into his thoughts, of the hole, him dashing out of it, racing through the cave and not coming back. And then, with all the magical force I can muster, I yell at him— “Run fast!

Man wasn't made to share the universe with gods. Their ways are not meant for the humble likes of us. But we've decoded some of their secrets regardless. Like worms, we've grabbed on to the talons of eagles and learnt some small truths and means of flight. But we can never really fly. We try, and succeed to a certain extent, but the fall is always—will always be—there. To be a druid is to embrace death, dance with it a while and finally fall prey to it. That is why we'll never rule this world. We have the power to bend all men to our whim, but are forever pushing ourselves further, trying to fly higher… and falling.

Watching the hole in the ever-fading light. It’s the size of a baby now, closing all the time. Narrower and narrower, until there’s barely room to fit an arm through. I’m thinking about quenching the light before the hole shuts—this is just torture—when a face suddenly appears. It’s Bran. The spell has passed and he’s come back. He wants to get through, to be with me. But the hole’s too small. He punches it, pulls at it, slips his fingers into the gap and strains with all his might—but it’s no good. The rock continues to grind together. The hole gets smaller, the width of a finger now. At the last moment, Bran presses his mouth up to the hole and roars with raw pain and loss, at the top of his voice, “Bec!” It’s the only time he’s ever uttered my name. Anyone’s name. His anguished cry stabs at my heart and tears spring to my eyes. I open my mouth to shout his own name back, to offer whatever small shred of comfort I can… but then the rock closes all the way and a fierce rumbling drowns out the echoes of Bran’s cry. I stare at the solid rock. My mouth closes. The light fades. Darkness.

Better to die for my people in my own land than rule in another and suffer a lifetime of cowardly guilt.

To be a druid is to embrace death, dance with it a while, and finally fall prey to it. That is why we'll never rule this world. We have the power to bend all men to our whim, but are forever pushing ourselves further,trying to fly higher...and falling

So easy to take it for granted, but this is something no normal human was made to see. The world of magic has blessed me with wonders and it's only right to stop every now and then to appreciate it.

Man wasn't made to share the universe with gods. Their ways are not meant for the humble likes of us. But we've decoded some of their secrets regardless. Like worms, we've grabbed on to the talons of eagles and learned some small truths and means of flight. But we can never really fly. We try, and succeed to a certain extent, but the fall is always - will always be - there.

I always knew there was power in the earth, but it must be much stronger than I imagined to resist such a relentless foe, day after day, night after night, year after year.

As a warrior, she won't have allowed herself to mourn. But women can't make themselves as detached as men. Our hearts are bigger. We feel loss in a way men don't. Orna has the body and mind of a warrior but her heart is like mine, and I know inside she's weeping.

This world was made to be cloaked in gray. It wouldn’t feel natural if the sun shone brightly all the time.

Her fear was infectious, and though I was too young to truly know terror, I felt it in my heart and trembled.

Though I’m tempted by the call of the sea, I resist. It can’t claim me. In a way I’m stronger than the waves and I feel good about that.

The urge to throw myself over the edge is strong. To die so beautifully, so perfectly… To fly for a handful of seconds… Become part of the sea, dashed against the rocks until I’m nothing, then swept away to the Otherworld in the company of fish, mermaids, and all the other creatures of the deep…

Like worms, we’ve grabbed on to the talons of eagles and learned some small truths and means of flight.

The world might be going up in flames, but we have to carry on as normal

Man wasn't made to share the universe with gods.

Like worms, we’ve grabbed on to the talons of eagles and learned some small truths and means of flight. But we can never really fly. We try, and succeed to a certain extent, but the fall is always — will always be — there.

We have the power to bend all men to our whim, but are forever pushing ourselves further, trying to fly higher… and falling.

Our eyes were on the Other-world, the stars, the gods. We didn’t keep watch on the world around us. And when we eventually lowered our heads and studied the waters closer to home, it was too late.

My thoughts were a jumble. I experienced the world in bewildering fragments and flashes.