Stray (Touchstone, #1)

by Andrea K. Höst

I walked into adventure and adventure has given me blisters.

I'm being extra careful in case of spiders. Or, y'know, mind-controlling tentacle monsters.

There are no black things Creeping In the corner of my eye And There are no claws Glinting In the shadow of that door But There's nothing wrong with Me I'm just fine, I'm Sane Normal Not seeing things.

Getting me home is just not a priority to these people. Working on gratitude adjustment.

And then I napped for what was left of the day and woke up in the middle of the night and really I have the weirdest life right now.

every time I start to think about being heroically self-sacrificing, the words "second level monitoring" are going to help me immensely.

I'm not Cass here. Devlin most of the time, and Caszandra occasionally. I'm a stray, and it's not just what people call me, it's what I am inside: something out of place.

One thing I've never been is competitive – I'm too lazy – and I don't really understand the people who are.

"I haven't the faintest interest in measuring myself against you." Ruuel looked and sounded supremely bored. "The only thing you're proving is your own insecurity."

If child is about to walk off cliff, what point saying they lack wisdom and watch them fall?

I blame Doctor Who. Mr Spock. The Scooby Gang: both the ones in the Mystery Machine and the ones with the stakes. I've spent my life with stories of people who don't walk away, who go back for their friends, who make that last stand. I've been brainwashed by Samwise Gamgee.