The Battle of Evernight

Down the violet wind slid syrinx melodies, wild as foxes, mad as love, strange as wakening.

The raven spread out its glossy wings and departed like hope.

She had seen what it cost him and her heart quickened with compassion. For that alone, she might have loved him almost.

Mindful of not thanking their benefactors, in case, like wights, they took offense, she added, "Your kindness is gratefully acknowledged. May your trees be forever fruitful.

Careful, even now, not to thank the wights, she added, "You have all been most kind.

Should they be thanked or does thanks drive them away? "You honor us," she stammered. "We request your help.

Riding upon the back of a waterhorse - what mortal had ever stayed in such a seat for so long? On a horse made of cold currents and liquid convergences, jests and trickery - pressed against a hide like the burnished sea of midnight, thing look different to the rider.