Den of Wolves

But then, if you forget what's bad, cruel, unjust, you might not care anymore about setting things to rights. You might stop standing up against the folk who do evil deeds. And someone's got to.

Hope fought hard to stay alive. Even when you thought it was beaten to nothing, burned to ashes, drowned deep, still it flickered away, waiting to be found again.

I’ll go on any path you want. Might give you a push sometimes, keep you walking straight. But whatever happens, I’ll be right there beside you. Rain or shine. Shadows or light. Step for step. Always.

Quem é esta mulher? De cabelo cor de fogo Olhos sábios como os de uma coruja Mãos fortes como as de um guerreiro Delicadas como as de uma mãe, Toda ela é guerra por fora E bondade por dentro Segue o seu rumo O seu nome é Blackthorn" "Quem é este homem? Força nas mãos Verdade nos olhos Amor no coração Honra no seu espírito O nome dele é Grim

When you felt sad or angry or hopeless, a story could help. A story could lead you into a different world for a while.

A story could lead you into a different world for a while. It might be a world where a foolish youngest son could turn into a brave and clever hero, or a beaten young woman could end up as a wise leader of folk. And when the story was ended and that world was gone, you still had the idea of it inside you. Like a flame that didn't go out even when the bad things rattled and swirled and screamed, and worse, oh, much worse, when they whispered and goaded and tormented.

Go armed with your formidable courage, your passion for truth and your strength of heart.

Being friends, that’s a big thing for some folk. One good friend can change your whole life.

Don’t load yourself up too heavy. Even the strongest heart has a breaking point.

Not so easy. Give your heart to someone and you spend your life in fear of losing them. In terror of seeing them hurt.

Allow someone to become too dear to you and you give your enemy a weapon more deadly than the sharpest sword, more lethal than the strongest poison.

Folk are easy hurt, no doubt about that. Easy wounded. Easy broken.

The world’s full of strange things. Stuff that doesn’t make sense until you really think about it. Happenings like the ones in the old tales.

If you forget what’s bad, cruel, unjust, you might not care anymore about setting things to rights. You might stop standing up against the folk who do evil deeds. And someone’s got to.

Nothing like hard work for driving away the shadows.

Even the most made up of stories has its roots in the truth. That one more so than many.

One woman can’t fix every wrong. One woman or one man can’t help every soul in trouble. Doesn’t matter how much you want to.

Hard to choose. Wait, and let the bad things go on. Act, and maybe waste your chance anyway, because the timing’s wrong. The best plan in the world can fall apart.

Power and wealth too often made folk lose their good judgement. It made them cruel and unthinking.