Echo North

I was brave. I was foolish. I went to help him without another thought.

You are not a mere storyteller. Your face is weathered, your hands rough with work - you have traveled far, I think.

Everyone is searching for their true selves. But everyone hides their trues selves from others.

I held him life the world had spun away beneath me, and I was left to dance with the stars, not mortal any longer but a creature made of moonlight and magic.

There is one magic older than the Wolf Queen's, a magic not even she can defeat." "Love," I say quietly.

Your face was not carved by the Devil." The wind died all at once, the roaring shrank away, and the wolf's next words echoed overloud in the sudden silence: "IT WAS CARVED BY ME!

I went north, to where the stories always said the wild things lived, where the folktales came from and still magic in the mountaintops. (269)

What others see in you reflects upon them not you

If you love something you will not give it up, not for anything. It belongs to you, it is part of you. If you grab hold of it and never let it go-- no one can take it from you.

How long have we been here, holding on to one another? There seems to be a change in the wind, blowing down through the top of this woodland hall. I can feel it, I think: the cords of his enchantment falling away from him, the Queen's hold evaporating like smoke.

Ivan did it, then. He took me at my word, adopted my story as his own, gave it an ending. I didn't expect it to end like this this, though: printed words on cream pages.