“I don't want you to be the shifter. Rokan's voice was quiet , and her human sense of smell told her nothing about how he felt. I haven't wanted that for a long time. since before i knew it was possible for you to not be the shifter. a pause then - so quirtly that even she could barely hear him - since before i knew i loved you”
“She had learned to pay attention to the variations in Rokan's smiles. There was the sideways half-smile when he found something amusing; the slow, contented smile that appeared only rarely these days; and the wide, dazzling, unrestrained smile she had so far seen only twice, when he first came for her in the Mistwood and when they watched the hawk soar against the sky. And then there was this one, the reason for her watchfulness: the impish grin that meant he wanted to do something he knew was stupid and was going to do it anyhow.”
“Bitch!"
"Under the circumstances," Rokan commented in an almost steady voice, "that's really just a statement of fact, you know.”
“I don't want you to be the shifter." Rokan's voice was quiet, and her human sense of smell told her nothing about how he felt. "I haven't wanted that for a long time. Since before I knew it was possible for you to not be the shifter." A pause then --- so quietly that even she could barely hear him. "Since before I knew I loved you.”
“Alek was right behind her now, his body pressing close as he adjusted her sword arm. She hadn't realized this fencing business would be so touchy.
He grasped her waist, sending a crackle across her skin.
If Alek moved his hands any higher, he might notice what was hidden beneath her careful tailoring.
“Always keep sideways to your opponent,” he said, gently turning her. “That way, your chest presents the smallest possible target.”
“Aye, the smallest possible target,” Deryn sighed. Her secret was safe, it seemed.”
“Do go on doing a lot of walking and keep up your love of nature, for that is the right way to understand art better and better. Painters understand nature and love her and teach us to see. And there are painters who never do anything that is no good...”
“when I see you, I feel the same. It is when I am away that I lose myself.”
“The Thing cannot be described—there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled.”
“Odd, she thought, how intensely you knew a person, or thought you did, when you were in love - soaked, drenched in love - only to discover later that perhaps you didn't know that person quite as well as you had imagined. Or weren't quite as well known as you had hoped to be. In the beginning, a lover drank in every word and gesture and then tried to hold on to that intensity for as long as possible. But inevitable, if two people were together long enough, that intensity had to wane.”
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